If  70 


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POEMS 


BY  — 


MRS.  S.  C.  HAZLETT-BEVIS, 


CINCINNATI: 

HENRY  H.  BEVIS,  PUBLISHER. 
1890. 


ENTERED  ACCORDING  TO  ACT  OF  CONGRESS  IN  THE  YEAR  1890, 
BY  HENRY  H.  BEVIS, 

IN  THE  OFFICE  OF  THE    LIBRARIAN  OF  CONGRESS.  AT  WASHINGTON,  D.  C. 


NOTES   BY  THE  AUTHOR. 


IN  these  few  published  poems,  it  is  not  the 
aim  of  the  writer,  for  any  mark  of  greatness,  nor 
has  it  been  the  intention  until  very  recently,  to 
convey  them  in  book  form  to  the  reading  public. 

The  feeling  which  prompted  both  thought  and 
YM-se,  has  been  that  of  sympathy,  a  desire  for 
purity  in  rythm  and  tone,  and  simplicity  of  expres 
sion,  with  a  love  for  the  beautiful. 

1  am  aware  of  the  criticism  which  will  be  passed 
upon  them,  many  of  them  being  mediocre,  but  all, 
1  trust,  bearing  the  seal  of  ///*  sanction,  and  a  few 
at  least,  showing  the  author's  faith  in  humankind. 

Some  day,  greater  things  maybe  accomplished. 

S.  C.  H.  B. 


Greeting. 

"HAir,r  and  not  "farewell!" 

Oh,  friend  of  mine; 
My  hand  to  thee  as  well 

I  offer,  clasping  thine 
In  hope,  that  days  to  come 

May  bring  for  thee 
The  kindliest  joys  of  home, 

On  land,  or  sea; 
That  every  day  and  hour 

May  make  thy  life  so  bright, 
No  dark'ning  shower 

Shall  cloud  it,  nor  e'en  night 
Be  known  from  day. 

Except  that  thou  mayest  rest; 
By  that,  life's  better  way 

Wherein  we're  taught  'tis  best. 
Oh,  if  thou  couldst  see 

Within  my  heart's  deep  cell, 
There's  not  a  strain  for  thee 

That  whispers  "fare  thee  well. 


—  5  — 


OH,  Poesy!  White-winged  Goddess  thou, 

With  Heaven's  garlands  on  thy  brow; 

Earth's  beauties  thou  alone  can  teach, 

And  thou  alone  can  Love  beseech; 

For  choicest  thoughts  are  clothed  in  words 

That  enter  hearts,  more  keen  than  swords; 

By  rythm  soft  and  cadence  mild, 

They  with  broken  hearts  have  smiled; 

And  they  who  stand  beside  the  bier 

Of  all  their  hopes,  take  courage  here, 

Because  in  words  more  dear  than  gold, 

Life's  lessons  teach,  though  worn  and  old, 

In  lines  of  thought  so  rich  and  rare, 

That  bids  them  hope,  and  not  despair. 

In  every  soul  there  gleams  a  drift 

Of  Poesy,  we  could  but  sift 

The  dross  from  out  the  gems,  and  see 

The  beauty  and  the  melody. 

He  made  His  image  not  in  vain, 

'Though  sinfulness  hath  beauty  slain; 

And  He  hath  taught  thee  well  the  art, 

Oh,  Poesy!  that  better  part; 

To  twine  and  mingle  with  the  air 

The  sweetest  scents  of  blossoms  fair; 

—  6  — 


To  tell  the  trills  of  tiny  birds 

In  sweetest  tunes,  in  rapture  words; 

To  catch  the  moonlight's  halo  fair, 

And  soften  even  sunshine's  glare. 

In  everything,  as  gold  refined, 

Thou  speakest  thoughts  of  higher  mind: 

To  thee  we  ascribe  the  greatest  power 

To  beautify  the  living  hour, 

Because  He  speaketh  through  thy  words, 

And  plays  on  strings  of  silver  chords, 

To  idealize  the  soul  of  man, 

And  bid  him  thus  annul  the  ban; 

To  forge  the  fetters  and  go  free 

As  thou,  oh,  White-winged  Poesy. 


Ibcart  to  Ibeart. 

SOME  day  we  shall  stand,  you  and  I, 

In  fairer  lands  I  trow. 
And  clasping  hands  'neath  bluer  sky. 

We  then  shall  surely  know 
Why  the  gulf  between  us  yawned  so  wide 

Why  'twas  given  us  here  to  {tart. 
And  as  the  golden  gate  swings  soft  aside, 

Oh,  shall  we  not  stand  heart  to  heart  ? 
7 


Somewbere. 

SOMEWHERE,  'tis  said,  in  the  Earth's  great  waste 

A  beautiful  isle  may  be  found, 
Where  naught  but  is  lovely  and  fair  and  chaste 

Find  place  on  that  hallowed  ground. 
Somewhere,  afar  in  the  mystic  seas, 

Whose  waters,  aH  rippling  and  blue, 
Wash  up  to  the  shore  with  a  rythrn  of  peace, 

And  heighten  its  beauties  anew. 

In  this  island  of  Somewhere  the  sun  ever  shines, 

But  its  rays  are  all  softened  and  rare, 
And  out  of  its  verdure  fair  blossoms  and  vines 

Fling  incense  to  perfume  the  air. 
The  music  of  birds  singing  sweetly  His  praise, 

Like  none  other  on  earth  can  compare  ; 
Both  moonlight  and  starlight  beam  gently  their  rays 

And  halo  His  kind,  watchful  care. 

Age  never  comes  to  this  mystical  shore — 

It  is  years  of  perennial  bloom  ; 
Sadness  and  sorrow  are  barred  evermore — 

Its  ways  are  not  shadow  nor  gloom. 
Happiness  has  chartered  this  beautiful  isle, 

Only  Peace,  Love  and  Joy  are  its  tones; 
From  deep,  lovely  eyes,  and  sweet  lips  a  smile, 

But  never  are  heard  sighs  or  moans. 

—  8  — 


Neither  hunger  nor  cold  are  ever  felt  there, 

Grim  want  stands  abashed  far  away; 
Not  even  in  dreams  can  fear  or  despair 

Ever  punish  the  beings  who  stay. 
Disappointment,  Ambition, — low  groveling  lie, 

Both  a  snare  and  a  cheat,  well  we  know  : 
And  only  Contentment  beneath  the  blue  sky, 

Somewhere — on  earth  here  below. 

Oh,  come;  let  us  go!   We  have  tarried  too  long  ; 

The  shadows  are  lengthening  each  day. 
Somewhere!  Ah,  hasten  where  Hope  wafts  a  song 

And  bids  us  be  happy  alway. 
Let  us  find  it,  tho'  mountains  and  seas  intervene, 

Though  tire  and  flood  bar  the  way  ; 
\\V  long  for  the  rest,  and  the  beauty  of  scene, 

And  the  joy  that  will  linger  for  aye. 


H  Xittlc  Cbilfc. 

ONLY  a  tiny  hand-clasp, 
Only  an  accent  mild, 

Only  a  pattering  footstep, 
But  that  of  a  little  child. 

Only  blue  eyes  uplifted, 
Only  a  pleading  filed, 

Only  a  heart  in  yearning, 
And  that  of  a  little  child. 

Only  a  trust  in  keeping, 
Only  to  be  beguiled, 

Only  glistening  tear-drops — 
The  blood  of  a  little  child. 

Only  a  heart  grown  callous, 
Only  a  soul  denied, 

Only  a  saddened  memory — 
A  neglected  little  child. 


—  10— 


Cbrist  entering  Jerusalem. 

OVKK  the  Mount  of  Olives  the  Master 

Took  his  way,  from  Bethany  old 
To  Jerusalem,  caring  not  that  disaster 

Might  block  his  path,  as  onward  bold 
He  pressed,  with  gracious  mien,  the  while. 

Treading  the  garden  of  Bethpage, 
Whose  fruit  and  sunlight  both  did  smile 

Upon  this  mighty  sage. 
With  wondering  eye  and  steadfast  awe 

The  gathering  rabble  came  behind 
Him;  they  knew  not  creed  nor  law, 

But  that  he  healed  the  blind 
And  bade  the  halt  go  free. 

Weary  and  spent,  an  ass  was  brought 
Him  from  Bethpage,  so  did  he 

Hide;  and  then  from  out 
The  multitude,  in  trenchant  tones  there  broke 

Triumphal  acclamations:  yet 
Thiotigh  it  all,  he  never  spoke 

In  praise  nor  anger.     Palms  met 
Above  his  head,  e'en  branches  cut 

An<l  waved  by  hands  that  knew  him  not. 
Commemorative  and  regnant  all,  but 

He,  the  only  son  of  God  begot, 
—  11  — 


Meekly  led  the  way  to  Jerusalem. 

The  preparation  of  that  great  feast, 
The  Passover,  was  begun;  and  to  stem 

The  crowded  throng,  from  West  to  East 
Beyond  its  wall,  was  almost  vain. 

With  heterogeneous  life  the  city 
Trembled.    Outlying  khans  and  caves  again 

Were  peopled  with  a  class  to  pity. 
Three  million  souls,  all  in  that  time 

Were  there,  in  suburb  and  Jerusalem; 
A  rangling  horde  of  reek  and  slime — 

For  know  ye  well  that  now  and  then 
Were  two  extremes.     No  assuaging 

Moral,  and  physical  agencies  with  which 
To  heal  and  lessen  human  suffering; 

And  even  a  doctor's  lance  and  stitch 
Were  all,  alas,  unknown  to  men. 

Slaves  the  one  half,  and  the  other 
Monsters.     Rome  had  so  far  driven 

Her  cohorts  over  hearts  of  mother, 
Brother,  friend  and  foe,  hearthstones 

And  shrines,  all,  all  were  as  nought — * 
The  dead  and  their  reeking  bones, 

The  height  of  that  Rome  sought. 
What  wonder  then,  the  lame  and  blind. 

The  leper  and  the  madman  came 
To  feel  a  touch  so  sweetly  kind 

As  Christ's — the  blessed  name  ? 


They  tlirew  themselves  before  him, 

Kissed  his  garment's  trailing  hem, 
And  with  glazed  eyes,  and  dim, 

Plead  for  succor — AJleluia,  Amen  ! 
Cairn  y  he  decends  from  off  the  ass, 

And  with  uplifted  hands, 
He  bade  the  tumult  cease, 

Kindly,  for  only  pity  for  the  band 
Fills  Jesus'  heart;  he  lays  a  gentle  touch 

Upon  the  dead  babe  of  a  mother  wild 
With  frantic  grief,  for  even  such 

As  these,  he  said  in  accents  mild, 
"Let  the  little  ones  come  unto  me." 

Arab,  Bedouin,  Nubian— all  these  were  there— 
Every  phrase  of  human  life  and  misery; 

Kven  the  beautiful  and  fair 
Greek  maiden,  who  doth  hope  to  learn 

More  of  Jesus'  wide-spread  fame, 
And  in  her  youthful  heart,  a  yearn 

His  love  and  grace  to  claim. 
Through  the  groups,  so  base  and  motley, 

Semitic,  Hellenic  and  even  Coptic  faces, 
Bethlehem  shepherds  and  the  noted  pharisee, 

Men  of  every  class — all  races, 
Bow  in  homage,  now  his  skill 

To  seek;  yet  doubt  and  disdain, 
Stand  also  there,  and  if  so,  still 

Why  come  they,  if  in  vain? 
—  13  — 


A  Judean  sunset  covers  all 

And  bathes  the  features  of  Messiah 
With  a  glory — not  a  pall. 

St.  John,  who  is  ever  nigh,  a 
Man  who  speaks  unto  the  throng, 

Of  peace  and  joy  through  Him 
Who  doeth  all  things  well;  a  song 

His  voice,  it  is  so  kindly.     Twilight  dim 
Falls  upon  them  ere  they  part; 

Palm  branches  strew  the  ground  before 
Our  Lord,  and  every  grateful  heart 

Yields  to  his  power  for  evermore. 


©nip  a  Jflower. 

BETWEEN  two  worn  and  faded  leaves 

Of  a  soiled  and  tarnished  book. 
Lay  gently  pressed,  by  one  who  grieves 

A  bud  from  shaded  nook. 
A  withered  rose,  with  ribbon  tied 

About  the  stiffened  stem, 
Tells  of  the  loving  heart  that  died, 

And  a  cross  and  diadem. 


IRot  to  jfccL 

THEY  sat  in  the  gathering  twilight, 

Night's  candles  alit  in  the  sky, 
And  talked  of  the  world  and  its  trials, — 

The  one  with  a  tear  in  her  eye, 
The  other  grown  older  and  patient, 

With  scars  on  her  heart  yet  to  heal, 
As  she  whispered  the  one  who  sat  near  her 

"You  must  toil  on  and  try  not  to  feel." 

"Try  not  to  feel!"  And  the  woman 

Whose  lines  into  places  not  fair 
Had  fallen,  looked  up,  as  the  omen 

Fell  on  her  ear,  with  despair. 
"Try  not  to  feel!"  Should  she  crush  it, 

This  God-given  instinct?     Ah,  no — 
Thrust  it  aside,  all  the  good  and  the  true, 

To  the  level  of  brutes  must  she  go  ? 

"Try  not  to  feel!"  Indurated 

As  one  wlio  like  marble  had  grown'.'' 
While  toiling  for  bread,  all  weary  and  worn, 

She  must  smile  when  they  gave  her  a  stone; 
Smile  when  a  curse  fell  upon  her, 

Heed  not  how  cruel  the  blows; 
"Try  not  to  feel!"   It  is  nothing, 

And  in  the  Hereafter, — who  knows? 
—  15  — 


''Try  not  to  feel!"    Become  callous 

To  all  of  the  world  and  its  sneers. 
To  trample  the  heart,  sore  within  us. 

And  care  not  when  taunted  with  jeers; 
Accepting  with  grace,  the  mean  portion 

So  pitilessly  doled  out  each  day, 
And  satisfied  be  with  the  gleaning 

'Though  one  falter  and  faint  by  the  way. 

"Try  not  to  feel!"  It  is  easy 

To  preach  unto  those  of  no  heart — 
But  they  who  are  climbing  the  mountain 

Know  well  how  the  thorns  tear  apart 
And  pierce  the  white  feet  that  are  pressing 

The  soil,  all  so  scorching  and  rough. 
"Try  not  to  feel!"  Ah,  the  mockery, 

As  well  whisper  winds  "'tis  enough." 

"Try  not  to  feel!"  If  each  human 

A  burden  alone  could  but  bear 
Without  inflicting  another. 

What  need  would  there  be  of  a  prayer? 
"Try  not  to  feel ! "    And  thus  calmly 

Go  down  to  the  grave  without  thought; 
But  oh,  for  the  heart  that  was  stifled, 

To  learn  just  how  dearly  'twas  bought. 


16  — 


parting. 

THKRK  is  never  a  parting  on  this  old  earth, 

Let  it  be  with  the  living  or  dead, 
But  is  tinged  with  a  sadness  from  memory's  birth, 

Of  the  "might-have-been"  there  in  its  stead. 

There  is  alwaj's  regret  for  a  something  that's  lost, 

And  a  wish  we  had  only  known 
More  of  this  friend,  at  whatever  the  cost, 

Whose  life  may  have  aided  our  own. 

A  xiinething  from  out  of  one's  life  has  flown, 

An  echoless  room  is  left  bare; 
For  every  heart  has  a  niche  of  its  own, 

And  a  place  in  your  own  to  share. 

It  may  be  with  pleasure,  it  may  be  with  pain, 

\Ve  voice  the  simple  "  Good-bye," 
But  we  catch  a  note  of  the  old  refrain 

That  sings  of  forever  and  aye. 


Sunshine  of  £>eatb. 


'TWAS  a  glint  of  golden  sunshine 

Glancing  in  an  open  door, 
Struggling  through  the  creeping  vines 

To  bathe  a  sanded  floor; 

It  fell  aslant  a  sleeping  face, 

And  touched  the  silken  curls 
That  nestled  'round  a  forehead  chaste 

As  morning  dew,  or  pearls. 

'Twas  only  a  crippled  orphan, 

Of  summers  scarcely  ten, 
Tho'  looking  like  a  wee,  old  man  — 

So  pinched  and  pale;  but  when 

The  sunlight  touched  his  pillow, 

And  turned  his  hair  to  gold, 
He  smiled  and  said:  "Will-o'- 

The-Wisp,  I've  caught  you  now  to  hold.'' 

And  opening  wide  his  big  blue  eyes, 

He  gave  a  sudden  grasp; 
And  then  he  stared  in  mild  surprise 

As  nought  his  fingers  clasp. 

—  18  — 


'  What  is  it,  dear?"  And  grandma  calm, 
With  sweetly  plaintive  voice, 

Came  to  his  couch,  "My  little  lamb 
Why  do  you  so  rejoice?" 

"Oh,  grandma,  I  had  such  a  dream, 

So  beautiful  and  long; 
A  dazzling  light  in  it  did  seem 

To  fill  the  air  with  song; 

"I  thought  it  was  a  brilliant  bird — 

Will-o'-the-Wisp — so  sweet 
Thf  charming  music  that  I  heard, 

I  shadowed  its  retreat; 

"And  when  I  came  quite  close  and  low, 

I  softly  thrust  my  hand 
Into  a  fragrant  bush,  when  lo ! 

I  caught  the  sunshine's  strand  ; 

"See  how  it  lingers  'bout  my  bed, 

So  lovingly  and  warm, 
And  bathes  my  weary  aching  head 

With  such  a  soothing  charm; 

"I've  been  so  tired,  all  night  through, 

I'm  better  now,"  he  said; 
The  white  lids  drooped  o'er  eyes  of  blue, 

A  smile — and  he  was  dead. 
—  19  — 


arrows. 

THERE  are  cruel  words 
That  cut  like  swords, 

In  these  aching  hearts  of  ours. 
There  is  never  a  day, 
Let  us  do  as  we  may, 

That  can  take  back  unwelcome  hours. 

A  whisper  soft 
Of  slander,  oft 

Will  leave  on  the  air  a  stain, 
That  try  as  we  will 
Remains  there  still 

And  we  strive  to  remove  in  vain. 

There  are  hearts  that  break 
Every  day,  and  we  make 

Our  own  lives  harder  still, 
By  a  careless  tone 
That  we  give  alone, 

For  the  sake  of  a  stubborn  will. 

It's  a  little  thing 
For  a  bird  to  sing 

As  it  springs  from  its  dewey  nest, 
But  it  teaches  all, 
Both  great  and  small, 

That  a  peaceful  life  is  best. 
20  — 


after 


DAY  after  flay  comes  the  longing 

To  do,  and  to  dare,  and  to  be: 
With  patient  effort  still  striving 

To  catch  from  life's  fretful  sea, 
A  bit  of  rare  driftwood  or  blossom, 

Where  the  scent  of  the  perfume  still  clings, 
And  just  a  glimpse  of  the  moonlight, 

Which  the  halo  of  waters  there  flings. 

A  sight  of  a  sail  bearing  onward 

A  cargo,  with  one  hope  fulfilled; 
Its  bow  glistening  white  in  the  sunlight, 

With  the  promise  of  joys  never  stilled. 
A  song  drifting  down  from  vast  SomeAvhere, 

So  freighted  with  love  and  rare  peace, 
That  the  heart  of  each  one  looking  upward, 

Echoes  back  a  sublime  surcease. 

It  is  not  the  longing  that  weakens, 

And  makes  the  heart  weary  and  faint; 
It  is  not  the  hopes  and  the  striving 

That  leaves  (God  forbid)  a  dark  taint, 
It  is  never  the  recompense  coming, 

Waited  and  toiled  for  so  long; 
There's  always  a  shadow  that  darkens, 

And  a  moan  through  the  sweetness  of  song. 
—  21  — 


©ur  Warrior  IDeaix 

GIRD  on  your  armor,  but  not  as  of  old, 

Hastening  to  enter  the  fray, 
But  with  loving  thoughts  of  the  brave  and  bold, 

Who  rest,  all  along  life's  way; 
Buckle  your  sword  with  a  trembling  hand, 

Don  your  old  coat  of  blue, 
Scatter  sweet  blossoms  all  over  the  land. 

On  the  graves  of  our  boys,  so  true. 

Fling  to  the  winds,  our  starry  flag, 

Wave  it  with  tearful  eye; 
Tender  the  thoughts  of  the  faded  rag, 

That  floated  'neath  Southern  sky. 
Hand  in  hand,  let  the  flowers  fall, 

On  the  blue  and  the  gray,  alike; 
No  difference  make,  o'er  one  and  all, 

As  your  guns  you  gently  spike. 

Think  if  a  smile,  on  the  dear,  dead  face, 

Hovers  not  'round  the  pale  lips; 
Perhaps  they  may  hear  in  this  sacred  place, 

The  sound  of  the  bugle  tips; 
The  roll  of  the  drum  may  reach  their  ears — 

Who  knows?  We  cannot  tell. 
They  lie  so  still!  Let  fall  your  tears, 

O'er  the  graves  and  the  flowers,  as  well. 
—  22  — 


Brave  soldier  dead,  may  our  presence  speak 

Of  the  tender  memories  borne 
Of  thee,  while  with  bowed  head  meek, 

We  greet  on  this  May  day  morn. 
Flowers  of  Hope,  and  Peace,  and  Trust, 

We  lay  them  at  thy  feet, 
Humble  offerings  to  the  dust 

Of  a  sacrifice  so  complete. 

So  gather  them  in,  all  the  beautiful  flowers, 

Prepare  them  with  kind,  loving  hand ; 
Scatter  them  wide  o'er  these  graves  of  ours — 

Our  boys,  all  over  the  land. 
Sacred  the  trust  to  us  hath  been  given, 

Keep  it  with  prayerful  heart; 
Sometime,  we  know  the  hearts  now  riven 

Will  join,  with  a  never-to-part. 


TBnsung 

IT'S  in  every  heart,  this  unsung  song, 
Whose  windows  are  open  wide 

To  catch  the  key  from  the  warbling  bird 
Or  the  moan  of  the  coming  tide. 
—  23  — 


CMbboofc'0 

I  THOUGHT  as  I  watched  the  stars  at  even', 

In  the  dome  of  th'e  deepening  sky, 
That  the  blue  was  the  floor  of  the  beautiful  heaven, 

The  stars  the  lights  of  the  city  high, 
That  gleamed  through  the  floor, made  worn  and  thin 

By  the  tread  of  the  angels'  feet; 
The  beautiful  city  wherein  no  sin 

Ever  shadowed  the  life  complete. 

When  the  stars  twinkled  in  bright  fitful  gleams, 

I  would  wonder  in  awe  who  passed  by, 
And  if  it  were  "mother?"  (She  filled  all  my  dreams 

Since  she  drifted  away  to  the  sky.) 
Oh,  how  earnestly  I  listened,  to  catch  on  the  air 

The  sound  of  her  voice  in  sweet  song, 
For  surely  she'd  sing  in  the  beautiful  There, 

As  she  did  here  011  Earth,  oft  and  long. 

Perhaps  I  might  see,  if  I  waited,  at  length 

Her  face,  as  she  looked  down  on  me, 
That  face  that  was  full  of  rare  beauty  and  strength 

To  the  child  that  once  sat  on  her  knee; 
But  the  hours  passed  by , and  the  nights  and  the  years. 

And  the  stars  filled  the  skies  as  of  yore, 
And  my  memory  is  filled  with  a  little  child's  tears 

For  the  mother,  who  came  nevermore. 

—  24  — 


^Tomorrow. 

OH,  for  a  Master-hand,  to  paint  "To-morrow." 

What  would  my  picture  be  ? 
A  fair,  sweet  scene,  where  sin  and  sorrow 

None  could  ever  see. 
-There  would  be  vast  mountains,  many  hills, 

For  these  mean  Fame  and  Glory; 
Stretches  of  woodland,  running  rills, 

Like  bits  of  rythm  in  story. 
I  would  touch  the  clouds  with  a  roseate  hue, 

Or  the  silver  line  reveal; 
The  sky  should  ne'er  darken — 'twould  be  all  blue; 

And  then.  I  would  softly  steal 
From  the  placid  lake  its  depth  and  tint, 

And  paint  the  soul  of  song 
That  filled  the  throats  of  the  birds,  and  print 

Fond  memories  all  along 
The  banks  of  my  shelving  river-side, 

With  its  rocks  for  Power  and  Strength 
That  would  never  fail,  and  a  certain  pride 

In  good  deeds;  and  then  at  length 
My  pencil  would  reach  the  dainty  flowers, 

Whose  perfume  rare  and  sweet, 


Should  'waken  the  senses  through  all  the  hours. 

To  heighten  the  charms,  replete 
With  all  that  we  looked  for,  listened  and  prayed 

And  trusted  for  many  years; 
There  should  not  be  a  wish  unstayed, 

A  promise  broken,  nor  tears; 
Nothing  but  gladness  and  hopes  fulfilled, 

Health — all  weariness  gone; 
And  over  these  joys  such  a  peace  instilled, 

It  would  linger  'til  following  dawn. 
And  then  I  would  paint  the  golden  strands 

That  drifts  in  some  lives  through — 
Faith  and  Purpose  and  willing  hands, 

No  matter  what  burdens  bestrew. 
The  morning  star  and  the  shimmering  sun, 

And  the  moonlight's  softened  ray, 
Would,  when  the  dawning  morn  begun, 

Be  mingled  into  day. 
At  the  threshold  of  Finis  I  would  quietly  pause, 

And  carefully  dip  my  brush 
Into  my  paint,  to  wipe  out  the  cause 

Of  estrangement;  and  then  through  the  hush 
Of  a  silence  that  falls  with  the  twilight, 

A  pair  of  worn  hands  should  enclasp,      [night 
And  the  chasm  that  yawned  thro'  the  darkened 

Be  bridged  with  that  earnest  grasp. 
I  would  hear  the  voice,  and  paint  the  smile 

That  rested  on  each  face; 
—  26  — 


And  over  the  summer  air  the  while, 

An  angels'  hand  should  trace 
"Understood,"  "Forgiven,"  "Friends  for  aye," 

And  the  links  would  bind  so  strong, 
That  never  on  earth  nor  in  the  sky 

Could  break  with  wrong  or  song. 
I  would  paint  every  heart  as  a  little  child's — 

As  pure  as  the  morning  dew, 
And  as  glad  as  when  summer  hours  beguiles 

With  its  sweetness  and  sunny  hue, 
This  same  wee  one  to  its  happy  play, 

Away  from  all  thought  of  care.    • 
I  would  paint  to-morrow's  coming  day 

With  joys  for  all  to  share. 


flo 


THKRK  is  no  night  for  one  with  perfect  trust  — 

Just  one  long  day; 
K  'en  tho'  trials  come,  as  come  they  must. 

Along  life's  way: 
The  stin  shines  on  with  pulsing  glow  the  samt  — 

An  undimmed  light; 
Shadows  fall,  but  darkness  hath  no  name, 

There  is  no  night. 

_  27  _ 


Hsbes  of  IDeab  tbopes. 

HER    ANSWER. 

I  ACKNOWLEDGE  I'm  tired  and  lonely, 

Weary  of  toil  and  its  strife; 
You  tell  me  it's  over,  if  only 

I'll  promise,  and  soon  be  your  wife. 

I've  been  on  the  hill-tops  of  morning, 
Way  down  in  the  valleys  of  night; 

I've  seen  the  bright  sunlight  adorning, 
And  clouds  scatter  low  in  their  might. 

The  pleasures  of  life  have  I  tasted, 

Its  greatness  as  well  as  its  woe; 
And  to  give  you  the  dregs  of  the  wasted, 

It  were  better  methinks  to  forego. 

Not  wasted  in  idle  repining, 

Not  wasted  in  weakness  nor  sin, 

But  spilled  is  the  blood,  torn  the  lining, 
Of  a  heart  that  lies  buried  within. 

Because  of  the  trust  that  was  broken, 

A  beautiful  promise  ne'er  kept, 
Can  you  wonder  I  pause  when  love's  spoken, 

And  think  twice  before  I  accept? 

—  28  — 


When  once  a  pure  love  has  heen  shaken, 

The  sufferer  struggles  in  vain 
To  throw  off  the  shackles,  or  'waken 

To  trust  and  true  happiness  again. 

There's  a  lone  grave  in  shadow  off'  yonder, 
And  in  it  lies  buried  the  past — 

Shall  I  glean  from  the  dead  hopes,  I  wonder, 
A  glow  of  the  old  love  at  last  ? 

Ah,  no!     It  is  useless  to  urge  me — 

Don't  plead  and  don't  question  me  why? 

You  may  he  true,  and  may  not  be; 
My  faith  has  been  shaken  for  aye. 

I'll  re-cover  my  grave,  and  do  battle 
The  same  as  I  have  done  for  years; 

And  amidst  the  world's  hurry  and  rattle, 
Give  smiles,  where  I  once  shed  my  tears. 


—  29  — 


Bngelue. 

Soft  and  low,  soft  and  low,    . 

Hear  the  bells,  the  evening  bells; 
How  thej7  murmur,  come  and  go, 

As  through  the  vale  their  echo  swells. 

Gently  falls  the  twilight  hour, 
See  the  sun  has  sunk  to  rest; 

Every  bird  and  bee  and  flower 
Softly  seeks  its  dewey  nest. 

Still  two  toilers  labor  on 

In  the  fields  of  golden  grain, 

Wisting  not  that  day  was  gone, 

Gleaning  when  the  wheat  hath  lain. 

Implements  of  labor,  rare, 

As  they  bend  to  meet  their  task: 

Gently  on  the  twilight  air 

Whispers  of  the  evening  bask. 

Hark,  once  more  the  silver  bells 

Toll  so  sweetly  o'er  the  lea, 
While  the  gleaner  meekly  tells 

O'er  his  beads,  the  Ave  Marie. 

—  30  — 


a  Cbrietmae  Bntbem. 

Hark  !  all  through  the  Heavens  resounding, 

All  through  the  Earth,  far  and  near, 
Come  the  myriad  of  voices  abounding 

In  sweetness  as  silver  bells  clear. 
The  angels  in  beauty,  rejoicing, 

Sing  gladly  this  gift  of  the  Son, 
While  children  below,  too,  are  voicing 

The  "Light  of  the  world,"  so  begun. 

Hallelujah  !  Shout  loudly  the  anthem 

Away  to  the  billowy  sea,  [stem, 

Where  the  waves  fling  it  back  from  the  ocean's 

And  mountains  return  it  to  thee; 
Christ  is  born! — i-s-b-o-r-n,  how  it  echoes 

And  floats  on  the  air  evermore, 
In  ry thins  of  beauty  its  melody  flows, 

As  it  reaches  from  shore  unto  shore. 

The  shepherds  watch  still,  all  so  lowly, 

Theirflocks,  but  they  fear  not's  of  old, 
For  the  grace  of  His  presence  so  holy, 

With  the  halo  of  Heaven's  own  gold, 
Comes  like^dew  to  the  parched  grasses, 

And  it  lifts  up  the  floweret's  head, 
So  not  one,  in  His  mercy,  He  passes 

As  He  comes  in  the  Father's  stead. 
—  31  — 


The  star  in  the  East  shines  as  brightly 

As  the  dawn  of  that  morn  long  ago, 
When  the  babe  in  the  manger,  so  sightly, 

With  Mary,  His  mother,  lay  low; 
The  air  is  as  full  of  glad  whispers, 

Of  "peace  and  good  will  unto  men." 
As  memory's  bells  are  of  vespers, 

Still  chanting  forever  "Amen." 


Hooking  jforwarfc. 

WE  all  look  forward.     What  would  life  be 

That  had  in  it  no  hope? 
Even  you  who  say  "I  have  no  hope,"  and  see 

Life  through  a  horoscope, 
Predicting  only  gloom  and  woe  and  tears; 

Even  you  crave  sunshine, 
And  seek  to  waft  away  all  fears; 

And  throw  your  tangled  line 
Far  out  in  the  distant  coming  years 

To  catch  a  ray  of  joy; 
For  each  hath  need  of  this,  to  stay 

The  tide  that  ofttimes  bathes  the  feet 
Of  those  who  ill  at  heart,  yet  may 

Be  stronger,  through  both  cold  and  heat. 
—  32  — 


THANKSGIVING  has  come  with  its  glory, 

All  strewn  o'er  with  russet-brown  leaves; 
It  brings  up  the  past,  and  the  story 

Of  they  who  have  garnered  their  sheaves. 
Not  one  hut  has  something  to  thank  for, 

Not  a  heart  hut  should  thankfully  pray, 
And  bless  Him  for  gifts  from  His  bountiful  store. 

He  has  given  us,  day  after  day. 
Tis  a  beautiful,  olden-time  custom. 

And  hallowed  because  of  the  time 
Brave  forefathers  fought  for  our  freedom, 

And  mothers  toiled  grandly  sublime. 
There  were  years  of  terrible  waiting, 

And  locks  that  grew  gray  with  suspense; 
With  matrons  and  maidens  relating 

The  actions  of  war,  so  intense. 
There  were  days  of  hunger  and  fasting, 

And  nights  full  of  wearisome  pain: 
There  were  hours  that  seemed  everlasting. 

And  moments  that  dragged  by  in  vain. 
Cheeks  paled  with  horror  and  wasting. 

Bright  eyes  grew  heavy  with  tears, 
And  red  lips  grew  wan  with  the  tasting 

The  bitterness  of  death,  in  those  years. 
—  33  — 


Hunger  and  want  was  their  portion, 

The  cold  pierced  the  young,  and  the  old; 
Fair  features  were  wrought  in  distortion, 

And  trembled  the  limbs  of  the  bold. 
It  was  over  at  last,  and  the  morning 

Sun  shone  from  a  blue,  cloudless  sky; 
Smiles  were  the  dear  wife's  adorning, 

And  the  tear-drop  that  fell  from  her  eye. 
The  maimed  and  the  lame  came  home  to  them — 

Both  fathers  and  sons,  worn  and  brave; 
And  others  came  not,  but  the  diadem 

Of  their  lives,  they  so  willingly  gave. 
Peace  and  plenty  soon  followed 

These  grateful  and  God-fearing  men: 
And  wives,  with  a  feeling  so  hallowed, 

Knelt  with  them  in  thanksgiving  then. 
Good  cheer  covered  table  and  hearth-stone, 

And  the  widow  and  orphan  partook, 
For  soldier  and  wife  would  feast  not  alone 

In  His  presence,  who  never  forsook. 
So  the  Thanksgiving  custom  descended 

To  us,  who  are  thankful  as  they, 
For  homes  that  are  still  well  defended 

In  much  the  same  heroic  way. 
There  are  murmurs  instead  of  thanksgiving, 

In  many  sad  homes  this  glad  day, 
Yet  not  one  but's  been  blessed  in  the  living, 

If  he'd  look  at  it  just  the  right  way; 


There's  a  thankfulness  even  in  breathing 

His  wholesome  and  glorious  air, 
And  a  world  of  sublimity  wreathing 

A  patient  endurance  and  care; 
If  thankful  of  naught  but  that  others 

May  not  have  been  stricken  as  you — 
A  magnanimous  thankfulness,  brothers, 

That  will  reach  up  to  Heaven  so  true. 
Xo  home  but  has  something  to  mar  it, 

Xo  life  that  is  free  from  all  pain; 
And  paths  may  be  darkened  or  star-lit — 

The  trail  of  the  serpent  will  stain. 
Then  thank  God  for  all,  and  still  trusting, 

Remember  the  poor  in  our  midst, 
For  while  they,  their  sad  lives  are  adjusting, 

He  may  do  with  thee  just  as  thou  didst. 
If  thy  larder  is  well  filled,  or  meager, 

Oh,  thankfully  give  up  a  share; 
He  is  wistfully  watch'ing,  so  eager 

To  return  measure  for  measure,  with  care. 
XTo  truer  and  better  thanksgiving 

May  be  offered,  than  gifts  well  bestowed 
On  the  needy  and  desolate,  living 

In  gloom  on  life's  wearisome  road. 
Then  to  each  a  joyful  thanksgiving, 

May  all  boards  be  well  filled  to-day; 
And  all  be  the  better  for  giving, 

And  reading  this  Thanksgiving  lay. 
—  35  — 


a  Xittle  pair  of  Sboes. 

THKY  stand  upon  my  writing  desk, 

This  "little  pair  of  shoes," 
Their  russet  tops  grown  so  grotesque 

And  soiled,  with  daily  use. 

On  one  the  buttons  all  are  there, 

The  other,  only  one 
Remains  to  tell  of  feet  so  fair, 

Encased  till  day  was  done. 

Two  tiny  holes,  one  in  each  toe, 

(ia/e  at  me  as  I  write, 
As  if  to  say,  "he  did  not  go, 

lie's  with  you  day  and  night." 

I  hear  the  pattering  feet  afar, 
They  echo  through  my  heart; 

The  old  wound  opens,  and  the  scar 
Stands  gaping  wide  apart. 

The  hot  tears  bathe  the  sore  to  heal 

Hut,  Oh,  it  is  so  deep, 
That  naught  will  cure  but  death,  I  feel, 

A  calm  and  gentle  sleep. 
—  36  — 


These  little  shoes,  so  full  of  pain, 

Are  full  of  blessings  too, 
For  drifting  through  the  sad  refrain 

Hope  sings,  with  voice  so  true. 

Some  day  he  will  come  back  to  me, 

The  way  he  cannot  lose, 
For  looking  through  my  love,  he'll  see 

His  little  pair  of  shoes. 


forgiven, 

'NEATH  lambent  lights,  where  all  is  sweet  perfume, 
Where  purest  fragrance  from  rare  flowers  exhume, 
A  women  lies,  in  costly  casket,  fair 
As  poet's  dream,  and  in  her  golden  hair 
Gleam  dewey  pearls,  and  bands  of  gold, 
And  jewels  on  her  hands  so  cold 
And  white,  and  none  would  ever  pause  and  think 
To  see  her  lying  thus  so  fair  and  sweet,  a  link 
From  other  lives  was  gone,  while  she  tread  earth 
That  echoed  with  her  mocking  mirth. 
But  list !  A  priest  comes  forth,  she  has  been  shriven; 
Ere  yet  she  died,  her  sins  were  all  forgiven. 
—  37  — 


Wooblanfc. 

OH,  woodland  dell, 

I  know  thee  well, 
Thy  echoes  still  do  form  a  part 

Of  treasures  mine, 

Around  the*  shrine 
Of  holy  love,  that  floods  my  heart. 

Thy  leafy  bowers 

Are  decked  with  flowers, 
From  which  the  fairies  rob  perfume; 

And,  Oh,  how  rare 

Thy  jewels  fair, 
When  dewdrops  gild  thy  heavenly  bloom. 

The  breezes  play 

At  will  away, 
With  all  thy  glories — Nature's  gifts; 

In  frantic  haste, 

They  strew  and  waste 
Thy  tinted  leaves,  and  pile  in  drifts. 

The  tiny  birds, 

In  magic  words, 
Are  heard  within  thy  beauteous  screen, 

And  to  complete 

Thy  charms  so  sweet, 
The  laughing  stream  beneath  is  seen. 
—  38  — 


An  emerald  sheen 

Is  spread  between 
Thy  fragrant  earth  and  one  who  stands; 

Full  well  I  know, 
*     This  gem  below, 
A  distant  glimpse  of  fairer  lands. 


flDteunberatat&ing. 

WE  stand  without,  when  just  a  single  thrust 

Of  hand,  e'er  so  gently  given, 
All  barriers  would  break  down,  they  must 

Fall,  all  locks  riven, 
When  upon  the  other  side  the  "paper  wall," 

Another  hand  meets  thine, 
Only  waiting,  as  thou  didst,  all 

Too  glad  to  cross  the  line. 
Strange,  each  heart  should  ache  the  same 

For  other's  cause.     A  lingering  doubt, 
A  simple  wound,  much  less  in  name, 

So  easy  to  escape  and  rout; 
But  no,  perverse  Nature  holds  her  sway, 

And  binds  her  victims,  day  by  day. 
—  39— 


H  Dap  from  Ibeaven. 

A  DAY  drifted  down  from  the  dawning  sky 

And  floated  mid  air  awhile, 
Then  softly  settled,  with  gentle  sigh, 

'Mong  flowers,  with  winning  smile. 

Its  sunshine  crept  in  the  hearts  of  men 
And  the  weary  head  was  lifted ; 

The  song  of  the  birds  filled  every  glen 
As  the  laughing  river,  gifted 

With  a  music  of  rippling  songs  so  sweet. 

Causing  the  ear  to  listen, 
There  came  to  each  heart  a  joy  complete, 

As  tears  on  the  eye-lids  glisten. 

A  murmur  of  peace,  a  fragrance  pure, 

The  air  was  the  dew  of  love; 
It  fell  on  each  soul,  with  certain  cure — 

A  touch  from  the  hand  above. 

"A  Day  from  Heaven,"  with  all  its  calm, 

Knowing  no  sorrow  here; 
The  rythm  of  Hope,  with  soothing  balm, 

Wiped  off  the  mourner's  tear. 

A  glad  new  song,  with  the  hush  through  all, 

Told  of  a  crown,  and  scars; 
And  the  wearer  stood,  within  Christ's  call, 

Under  the  gleaming  stars. 

—  40  — 


Iber  Xovcr. 

He  stood  so  close  beside  her  chair, 

And  looked  down  in  her  eyes 
With  such  a  gaze  as  rapture  gives, 

When  joy  is  love's  surprise. 
His  strong  right  arm  about  her  twined, 

His  blue  eyes  humid  grew, 
As  he  gently  took  her  little  hand 

And  pressed  it  fondly  too. 

He  drew  her  head  upon  his  breast, 

And  leaned  his  own  upon 
The  silver  threads,  where  golden  once 

The  sunlight  glow  had  shown. 
"My  precious  darling,"  whispered  he 

In  tender,  soothing  tone, 
"You  are  all  the  world,  my  sweet,  to  me, 

And  I  am  yours  alone." 

The  great  heart  of  the  woman  grew 

So  full  of  love  for  him, 
The  lad  who  wore  such  eyes  of  blue 

She  felt  her  own  grow  dim. 
So  many  years  between  them  lay, 

Her  work  was  well  nigh  done, 
But  while  she  lived,  she'd  daily  pray 

And  thank  God  for — her  son. 

—  41  — 


Xisten. 

THEY  are  coming,  don't  you  hear  them, 

All  the  whispers  in  the  air; 
The  sounds  of  bird,  and  bee  and  wave, 

And  the  sunny  days  so  fair? 

Don't  you  hear  the  roses  whisper, 

At  the  root  of  parent  stem, 
"I  must  hasten  with  my  fragrance, 

And  fling  out  my  love  emblem?" 

And  the  violet  and  crocus, 

How  they  stir  the  yielding  mould, 
With  their  earnest  little  pushing, 

As  their  heads  they  soon  will  hold 

Above  the  earth  and  grasses, 
With  a  dainty  perfume  rare,      , 

As  nodding  to  their  sisters 
Wood-anemone  so  fair. 

The  waters  will  rush  by  them 

In  frantic  leap  and  play; 
Leaves  will  rustle,  birds  will  warble 

All  the  livelong  summer  day. 
—  42— 


And  the  heart  of  man  keeps  throbbing 
To  the  tune  -that's  in  the  air, 

For  he  knows  the  days  are  coming 
That  will  bring  to  him  a  share 

Of  the  light  and  shade  and  beauty, 
Earth  dispenses  free  to  all; 

The  happy  days  of  summer — 
How  we  echo  their  recall. 

Come  bird,  come  bee,  come  blossom; 

Laughing  river,  sing  your  song; 
Sunlight,  soften  all  your  glances, 

As  you  join  the  happy  throng. 


IReep  tbc  Ibeart  H)oung» 

We  never  grow  old  if  we  keep  the  heart  young, 

Tho'  phantom  shadows  fall 
Among  the  tresses  that  once  were  so  brown; 

They  come  to  one  and  all. 
Eyes  will  not  dim  if  the  light  in  the  soul 

Is  fed  by  kindly  ray, 
And  the  smile  that  hovers  around  Love's  lips 

Grows  sweeter  day  by  day. 

—  48  — 


Xe  Brave  Cbevalicr. 


[A  TRIBUTE  TO  LIECT.  R.  M.  G.  BROWN.] 


AMID  the  hiss  of  waters  seething, 

And  roar  of  winds  aloft, 
The  lightning  'round  them  wreathing, 

And  thunderbolts  so  oft, 
Rode  the  gallant  ship,  the  Trenton, 

With  her  sails  all  limp  and  low, 
And  Cadet  Richard  Jackson 

Standing  at  the  vessel's  bow. 

One  by  one  the  good  ships  battled 

With  the  rage  of  tempest  stern; 
As  Heaven's  artillery  rattled, 

Every  heart  for  home  did  yearn. 
In  Apia's  reef-filled  harbor 

Tossed  the  crafts  like  children's  toys, 
Or  leaves  from  vine-clad  arbor, 

Drifting  out  from  Nature's  joys. 

One  by  one  the  good  ships  vanished, 

With  their  freight  of  human  souls, 
While  the  cries  from  stout  hearts  banished 

All  their  hopes — the  wild  bells  tolled. 
Black  the  decks  with  beings  thronging, 

Clinging  hard  to  rope  or  mast, 
Each  with  eye  uplifted,  longing 

For  the  day  to  break  at  last. 

—  44  — 


When  the  dawn  fell  on  Samoa, 

Ruins  lay  at  every  turn; 
Hundreds  rested  'neath  the  billows — 

Who  would  make  their  home-fires  burn? 
Anguish  painted  every  feature 

Of  the  gallant  Trenton's  crew; 
Knew  they  well — yes,  every  creature — 

Soon  they'd  lie  beneath  the  blue. 

Heart  and  courage  both  were  sinking; 

"WTe  are  lost!"  the  brave  men  cried. 
"Hold!     Not  yet,"  said  Brown  as,  thinking, 

He  leaned  o'er  the  doomed  ship's  side; 
Then  with  head  and  eye  uplifted, 

He  bade  one  and  all,  "Aloft!" 
"To  the  rigging!"     His  voice  drifted, 

And  the  winds  appeared  more  soft. 

Quick  all  clambered,  for  they  loved  him, 

Every  man  obeyed  his  will. 
Their  bodies  in  the  morning  dim 

Caught  wind  and  held,  until 
The  Trenton  reached  deep  water. 

SAVED!     And  by  a  single  mind 
Held  back  from  fearful  slaughter, 

Four  hundred  human  kind  ! 


45  — 


Ibunter's 

Oh,  high  on  the  brow  of  yon  rough,  jutting  crag, 
I  have  made  me  a  home  near  the  haunts  of  the  stag; 

Where  the  wild  billows  roar, 

And-  the  cataracts  pour 

From  the  height  of  the  mountains,  o'er  and  o'er. 

Where  deep  in  the  wilds  of  the  forests,  I  see 
No  footstep  of  man,  but  is  traversed  by  me; 

Where  the  serpent's  keen  hiss, 

And  chasm  and  abyss 

Have  charms  for  me,  full  of  bliss,  of  bliss. 

I  love  this  my  home,  my  wild,  rude  home, 
And  would  not  exchange  for  the  ruins  of  Rome; 

Here  the  wild  goat  feeds, 

And  the  chamois  speeds 

O'er  the  rock,  to  his  mate,  where  he  leads,  he  leads. 

No,  I  would  not  exchange  this  weird  home  of  mine, 
For  a  palace  of  gems  on  the  banks  of  the  Rhine, 

Tho'  dazzling  it  be. 

My  home's  by  the  sea, 

Where  the  bold  eagle  soars,  and  I'm  free,  I'm  free 


"ITlnbappp  ? 

"Unhappy?"     No;  why  do  you  ask? 

Because  my  pen  is  found 
To  trace  in  words  of  no  light  task 

A  sympathy  profound 
With  all  tluit  tends  toward  sadness  ? 

Is't  thus  you  reason,  friend, 
And  think  my  heart  knows  not  of  gladness; 

And  thus  my  life  will  end? 
Ah,  then  'tis  not  given  you  here  to  see 

That  underneath  this  veil, 
A  heart  of  love  beats  full  and  free 

And  hath  a  happy  tale 
To  tell,  as  well  as  that  of  sorrow. 

You  do  not  know  the  signs; 
Take  heed  for  often  coming  morrow, 

And  learn  the  sun  shines 
Where  the  storms  have  raged  the  fiercest, 

And  the  calm  that  falls 
Is  greater  where  an  arrow  piercest 

The  hush  of  Memory's  halls. 
So  if  I  write  in  mournful  strain, 

Paradoxical  I  see, 
And  hear  the  joy  through  waves  of  pain 

Of  Earth's  humanity. 
"Unhappy!"     Not  when  He  hath  given 

Me  scope  to  soar  aloft 
And  commune  with  minds  who've  striven 

And  reached  the  goal  so  oft.  [47 


Be  flDerdful. 

Shadows  may  darken  your  pathway, 
But  the  sunlight  will  linger  there  too; 

As  bitter  and  sweet  are  ere  mingled, 
And  falleth  the  blight  with  the  dew. 

It  is  better  to  lay  in  our  weaving, 

A  thread  of  the  gold  with  the  brown; 

To  lighten  the  burdens  of  others, 
And  give  back  a  smile  for  a  frown, 

Life  is  to  short  to  be  churlish, 

Kind  words  are  easy  to  say; 
Sow  them  broadcast  in  your  planting, 

And  flowers  will  bloom  by  the  way. 

Be  merciful  e'en  to  the  fallen, 

Perhaps  you  may  not  have  been  tried; 
The  greatest  of  sins  in  His  vision, 

Is  that  of  a  blind,  stony  pride. 


—  48  — 


Cincinnati's  Centennial. 

Out  from  the  cycles  of  ages, 

And  one  hundred  golden  years, 
Glad  peans  of  praise  from  the  sages 

Are  filling  the  hemispheres  ; 
The  air  is  full  of  rejoicings, 

For  the  city's  century  birth, 
And  a  crown  of  glory  is  resting 

Upon  the  brow  of  old  Mother  Earth, 
Who  has  yielded  her  corn  and  vintage 

Without  stint ;  and  a  loving  hand 
That  is  laid  with  blessing  upon  the  age  ^ 

Of  Ohio's  fair,  proud  land. 
Around  her  beautiful  valleys 

The  majestic  river  flowrs, 
That  onward  with  laughter  and  sallies 

Its  bountiful  gift  bestows. 
The  crafts  still  come  to  us  laden 

With  the  spoils  of  garnered  years, 
As  they  float  on  her  bosom  that  bears  the  trace 

Of  a  century's  hopes  and  fears. 
All  around  and  about  us 

Are  marks  of  skillful  hands; 
Fair  daughters  and  sons  of  Wisdom 

Have  competed  with  other  lands, 

—  49  — 


And  distanced  them  oft,  in  climbing 

To  the  highest  round  in  fame; 
While  memory's  bells  are  chiming 

And  ringing  the  cherished  name. 
Shout  aloud  and  rejoice; 

Let  Bacchus  now  bring 
His  choicest  of  wines  to  her  feet, 

And  pouring  them  o'er 
With  uplifted  voice, 

The  Queen  City's  praises  repeat. 
The  thirst  of  her  muses  Aganippi  shall  quench, 

As  they  herald  the  city  in  songs, 
While  Clio,  proud,  from  her  bosom  will  wrench 
»   The  history  that  to  it  belongs. 
Laugh  aloud  with  wild  glee, 

Sing,  and  fill  up  your  bowl, 
Let  toasts  to  her  prowess  arise; 

May  love  enter  in,  and  so  on  to  the  goal 
Of  the  beauty  in  fair  woman's  eyes. 

Ceres  and  Flora,  their  trophies  will  bring 
And  garland  the  city  anew, 

While  'round  her  the  glory  and  honor  doth  cling, 
Cincinnati — so  brave  and  so  true. 

May  laces  and  webs,  from  the  looms  of  the  land 
Of  the  Orient,  whose  sun  gilds  our  own, 

Be  lovingly  sent,  and  with  fair,  lavish  hand, 
About  her  proud  shoulders  be  thrown. 

The  pearl,  and  the  ruby,  and  diamond  shall  gleam 
—50— 


From  the  sheen  of  her  satin-like  hair. 

While  over  all,  like  a  fairy  dream, 
Shall  linger  the  soft  summer  air. 

Ho!    Comus,  make  merry,  and  lend  us  your  art 
To  gild  all  the  joys  of  the  hour, 

Bid  cankering  care  make  haste  and  depart, 
Ere  the  dew-drop  shall  rest  on  the  flower. 

To  gentle  Melpomene,  a  gracious  adieu, 
Who  has  guided  the  pen  for  this  hour, 
.    While  with  heart  all  intense,  and  smiles  we  renew 
And  welcome  the  century  with  power. 


appreciation. 

"Tis  a  little  thing  to  give  a  cup  of  water" 

So  it  hath  been  said,  but  better  still 
When  hearts  do  thirst,  are  simple  kindly  words 

That  touch  the  chords  their  own  sweet  will, 
And  echo  back  in  silent  strains  of  song 
•    A  gentle  sympathy — a  music  all  their  own, 
That  tells  of  gladness  when  the  days  are  long 

And  weary,  for  each  must  walk  alone 
His  path,  tho'  his  were  not  to  choose. 

All  ways  are  God's  through  dark  or  light, 
And  just  as  loving  mother  woos 

Her  babe  and  hopes,  so  lifts  the  night. 
—  51  — 


at  Xast. 

I  sit  in  the  twilight's  sweet  gloaming, 
My  heart  throbbing  low  in  my  breast, 

While  my  soul  is  forevermore  roaming 
In  search  of  that  place  called — Rest. 

My  eyes  look  away  towards  the  valleys 
Where  shadow  and  light  intervene. 

The  brook  laughing  by  with  its  sallies, 
A  drift  of  the  moonlight's  sheen. 

The  night  air  so  softly  doth  whisper 

Of  Peace  and  Fruition  at  last, 
That  I  turn  with  a  start  as  the  vesper 

Hymn  reaches  my  ear  from  the  past. 

An  echo  of  silences  golden, 

All  grown  o'er  with  hoar-frost  of  years, 
The  memory  so  bitter  and  olden, 

Is  a  grave  and  a  casket  of  tears; 

Strewn  o'er  with  a  ripple  of  laughter, 

A  ribbon,  a  smile  and  a  song; 
The  dead  Hopes  that  follow  thereafter, 

With  the  Faith  that  doth  to  them  belong. 

The  touch  of  a  hand  that  has  vanished, 
A  breath  floating  over  my  hair, 

The  echo  of  footsteps  once  banished, 
A  silvery  voice;  Ah,  so  rare. 
—  52— 


They  come  in  the  gathering  twilight, 
These  echoes  from  out  the  sad  past, 

And  I  know  that  the  gloom  and  darkness  of  night 
Will  end  with  the  morning  at  last. 

The  dawn  of  an  eternal  sunshine 

Will  break  with  new  beauties,  I  ween, 

As  the  hand  over  yonder  reaches  for  mine, 
With  nothing  to  bar  there  between. 


pearls. 

There  was  silence  in  Heaven,  and  listening, 

The  angels  heard  moans 
Come  from  the  Earth,  and  saw  glistening, 

Tears  on  bare  stones. 
As  they  looked,  softly  moonlight  fell  o'er  them, 

And  changed  them  most  rare 
Into  beautiful,  costly  and  dainty  gems, 

Fit  for  queens'  wear. 
Then  with  the  seal  of  His  hand, 

Through  the  air  whirls 
The  word  for  our  tears,  the  Father 

Sanctioned  them  Pearls. 
—  53  — 


1ft  Comes  in  m\>  IDreams. 

It  comes  in  my  dreams,  a  spot  so  fair, 

All  lambent  light  and  shade; 
A  hush  of  peace  through  the  fragrant  air, 

A  beauty  that  ne'er  can  fade. 

A  spot  so  pure,  with  verdure  green, 

Set  apart  from  all  below; 
Its  loveliness  none  but  I  have  seen, 

And  He  who  hath  made,  I  know. 

There  are  pictured  rocks,  and  shelving  shore. 

And  waters  with  tints  of  gems; 
Rythms  of  praise,  floating  o'er  and  o'er, 

With  touch  of  the  Master's  hems. 

The  leaves  of  the  trees  have  a  rustle  soft, 
Like  music  from  spheres  unknown, 

And  the  warble  of  birds  is  heard  so  oft 
In  magic  waves  of  tone. 

The  flowers  that  bloom  on  this  fertile  spot, 

None  ever  were  seen  before; 
Their  color  and  fragrance  more  rare,  I  wot, 

Than  any  this  earth  e'er  bore. 

The  sunlight  is  softened,  the  sky  so  blue, 
The  heart  sings  for  gladness  and  joy; 

There  is  nothing  here  but  is  pure  and  true, 
No  taint  of  this  world's  alloy. 

—  54  — 


It  comes  in  my  dreams,  this  beautiful  place, 
Where  love  is  the  crowning  charm, 

And  kindness  and  sympathy  serve  to  chase 
Away  all  deeds  of  harm. 

There's  nought  that  can  tire,  only  to  please, 
In  these  beautiful  dreams  of  mine; 

Dreams  that  bring  rest  and  perfect  ease, 
To  finish  the  dav's  decline. 


IRubp. 

DID'ST  ever  think  the  ruby 

Was  the  blood  of  human  hearts, 
Congealed  by  constant  sorrow, 

And  the  arrow  of  pains'  darts? 
It  is  said,  whoever  wears  them 

Is  insured  from  harm  to  come, 
And  it  ferrets  out  all  poison, 

Wherever  one  may  roam. 
But  there's  something  in  its  color 

And  in  its  meaning  too, 
That  has  a  double  savor, — 

May  it  not  be  thus  to  you 


across  tbe  Xinc. 

JUST  as  dear  to  me  are  mine, 

Just  as  dear  are  yours  to  you, 
They  who  stood  in  battle  lines — 
Our  bonnie  boys  in  gray  and  blue; 
Each  with  heart  for  country's  call, 
Each  laid  low  by  cannon  ball. 

Side  by  side  they  lie  at  rest, 

Yours  and  mine,  where  hands  might  clasp; 
The  sweet  wind  bloweth  from  the  west, 
And  catcheth  jn  its  friendly  grasp 

A  rare  perfume  from  Southern  wands, 
And  wafts  it  over  Northern  lands. 

The  fairest  blossoms  of  the  South 

Nod  gentle  welcome,  one  by  one, 
To  every  Northern  river's  mouth, 

That  bids  its  channels  toward  the  sun, 
Its  onward  course  fore'er  to  run, 
From  day  to  day  till  all  is  done. 

Glad  Nature  teaches  all  the  way 

All  bitterness  to  put  aside, 
A  kindly  heart  from  day  to  day 
To  open  portals  far  and  wide, 

And  cordially  grasp  a  brother's  hand, 
No  matter  what  his  creed  or  land. 
—  50— 


If  dead  tongues  speak,  then  our  boys 

Lying  low  in  Southern  lands, 
Whisper  of  something  more  than  joys 
We  measure  by,  and  clasping  hands, 
Look  into  one  another's  eyes 
With  smiles  as  radiant  as  the  skies. 

On  sweetest  sunlit  summer  morn, 
As  underneath  its  arch  they  lie 
Resting,  as  when  the  newly  born 
Of  Earth  its  mother's  lullaby 
Soothes  it  to  gentle  slumber 
With  love,  not  worlds  can  number. 

So,  sometimes,  may  not  we,  as  they, 

Clasp  hands,  and  smile,  and  thus  forget, 
And  love,  as  do  the  blue  and  gray 

Who  fought  as  best  they  knew,  and  yet 
Forgave,  for  His  sake — yours  and  mine, 
Clasping  hands  "across  the  line." 


—  57  — 


©ne  of  £bese 

ONE  of  these  days  when  all  the  years  so  silent 

Have  passed  into  eternity  at  last, 
And  you  and  I  stand  face  to  face,  thus  meeting, 

Shall  we  remember  all  the  bitter  past? 

Shall  we  remember  all  the  woe  and  heartache, 
That  met  us  on  life's  morn  and  sunlit  path? 

vShall  we  in  awe  stand  back,  the  pain  renewing, 
As  glance,  to  glance,  a  greater  misery  hath? 

Will  stifled  moans,  pale  lips  the  torture  hiding, 
Be  wrung  from  hearts  whose  cup  is  more  than  full  ? 

Will  tears  trace  deeper,  in  the  furrows  graven? 
Or  shall  an  apathy  our  spirits  lull? 

Shall  aching  brain  be  horrified  with  vision, 
Panoramic  view  of  scenes  we  would  forget? 

Shall  worn  hands  clinch, and  make  therein  incision, 
And  blood  drip  from  a  life  full  of  regret? 

Must  all  the  thorns  be  tread  upon  as  olden, 
Our  weary  feet  no  rest  as  yet  to  feel? 

Must  burdens  borne,  bow  lower  in  submission, 
Before  His  touch  our  broken  spirits  heal? 

If  so,  dear  God,  from  out  thy  loving  kindness, 
Let  one  soul  drift  into  a  blissful  naught — 

My  own — and  if  a  wild  mistaken,  blindness, 
Forgive,  and  understand  the  silence  bought. 

—  58  — 


a  (Mcture. 

A   DAWNING    day,  and    hill-top   whose    brow    was 

flower  crowned. 

A  shimmering  sun,  a  prescience  in  air, 
The  perfume  of  peace,  His  beauty  all  around, 
The  trilling  of  birds,  the  glimmer  of  sea, 
The  sough  of  a  summer  breeze; 
Away    off    yonder,  where    the  hush  of   a  silence 

mingles, 

With  a  cry  that  may  never  cease. 
An  earnest  life,  a  proud,  true  heart, 
Eyes  with  the  light  of  the  stars; 
A  winning  smile,  sweet  lips  apart, 
And  a  trust  that  nothing  mars; 
An  extended  hand  for  the  book, 
Which  holds,  on  its  pages  fair  to  see, 
A  lesson  so  rife,  with  the  sweets  of  life 
As  it  seems  in  a  destiny. 
An  expectant  look,  a  flush  of  joy, 
Feet  eager  to  tread  the  path; 
A  restless  impulse  without  alloy, 
A  beautiful  seeming,  a  something  within  which 

hath 

An  awakening  hope — for  a  toy, 
—  59  — 


A  pause,  a  listen,  a  catch  in  the  breath, 

As  wonderland  bursts  on  the  view — 

So  bright  and  so  fair,  so  marvelously  rare. 

Oh,  nought  but  is  good,  and  is  true. 

A  shadow,  a  cloud,  a  look  as  of  death, 

A  sigh  for  the  old,  and  the  new; 

A  clutch  at  the  blossoms  fading  beneath, 

Which  still  at  the  feet,  the  pathway  bestrew, 

Like  thorns  in  the  weary  one's  wreath. 

A  soil  on  the  book,  a  soil  on  the  page 

The  hands  less  firmly  hold; 

A  look  as  of  one  grown  suddenly  sage, 

A  sorrow's  shaft  the  story  told, 

And  old,  but  not  with  age. 

A  murmur  of  pain,  for  the  hero  troop, 

And  the  ship,  Hope,  passing  by, 

An  upward  glance,  for  the  angel  group, 

Through  the  fastly  darkening  sky; 

Eventide  coming  on  apace, 

Clouds  hurrying,  scurrying  by; 

A  look  of  woe  on  the  ghastly  face, 

A  pitiful,  anguished,  desolate  cry, 

As  a  hand  looms  forth  to  trace 

The  lines  of  a  life  that  knew  no  sin, 

Written  in  words  of  gold 

On  tablets  so  clear  that  the  light  within 

Streams  over  the  letters  bold. 

—  60— 


There  are  looming  rocks  by  the  weird  sea-side, 

An  ominous  flapping  of  wings, 

And  croak  of  gulls,  as  the  winds  they  ride, 

Eerie  like  flitting  the  tide. 

Worn  and  weary  and  darkened  the  life, 

And  the  night  as  well;   a  chill 

And  terrible  mental  strife 

And  battle  with  doubtful  will. 

Finished — the  book  lying  low  and  torn 

As  thrown  by  a  ruthless  hand; 

A  murmur.of  winds  through  caverns  worn 

By  the  wear  of  the  wide  sea  sand; 

Just  this — and  the  wash  of  fretted  waves. 

A  moan  in  the  heart  none  may  hear. 

There  may  be  something  which  sometimes  saves 

The  wreck  of  a  life  so  drear. 


Cbainefc  2>own. 

WHAT  is  the  prison,  the  chain  or  the  gyve, 

To  the  fetters  that  daily  bind 
The  soul  and  the  bodies  of  those  who  strive 

Through  Poverty's  curse  so  unkind  ? 

—  61  — 


Xov>e's  tribute. 

[DEDICATED  TO  MRS.  ORMISTOX  CHAXT.  ENGLAND.] 

OH,  friend  from  a  far  off  country, 

A  tribute  of  love  I  pay 
To  thee,  for  thy  staunch  defense  of 

The  woman  just  "over  the  way," 
For  thy  kindly  words  of  counsel. 

Thy  helping  hand  in  need, 
For  thy  care  of  the  weak  and  fallen, 

And  planting  the  precious  seed. 

Of  truth  and  right  in  weary  hearts, 

That  had  erstwhile  gone  astray; 
Thee  brought  them  back,  with  pleading  tones 

And  eyes  that  were  filled  alway 
With  tears,  for  their  wrongs  and  sorrows, 

And  smiles  for  the  coming  time, 
When  they,  too,  would  see  the  morrow 

Grow  bright,  through  a  love  sublime. 

For  all  that  is  pure  and  holy, 

All  that  is  noble  and  true; 
His  Golden  Rule  thou  hast  taught  them, 

"To  me,  as  I  do  unto  you," 
While  others  rested,  thou  slept  not, 

But  walked  at  the  midnight  hour 
Alone,  through  the  streets,  in  darkness, 

To  rescue  a  fallen  flower. 
—  62  — 


No  winter's  cold,  or  summer's  sun, 

Has  stayed  thy  ready  feet; 
With  voice  of  perfect  sweetness, 

Thou  hast  charmed  the  world  complete. 
Ever  ready  to  do  and  dare, 

In  the  cause  thou  hast  espoused; 
Small  and  slight  and  fragile, 

Thou  hast  waning  hearts  aroused. 

To  the  good  that  is  within  them, 

For  "  all  have  an  angel  side," 
And  thine  the  hand  to  beckon 

Back  from  the  coming  tide 
Of  woe  that  would  overwhelm  them, 

And  hedge  them  without  for  aye; 
Thine  the  harvest  to  gather, 

In  thy  reaping,  by  and  by. 

Though  ocean  may  divide  us, 

I  shall  see  thee  in  my  dreams; 
I  shall  hear  thy  voice  in  fancy, 

Passing  sweet  when  moonlight  gleams. 
I  shall  catch  that  bird-like  motion 

Of  head  and  eyes,  so  rare; 
I  shall  waft  a  blessing  to  thee, 

Bear  thy  memory  in  my  prayer. 


—  63  — 


Bloom. 

OH,  star-eyed  daisies  and  clover, 
How  cometh  your  bloom  to-day? 

If  we  search  the  wide  world  over, 
There  is  none  to  say  to  thee  "  nay." 

Oh,  hearts  of  dainties  golden, 

Oh,  sweetest  of  perfumes  rare, 
Thou  tellest  of  memories  olden 

We've  guarded  with  jealous  care. 

Oh,  meadow  with  moonlight  o'er  thee, 
With  whisperings  soft  in  the  air; 

The  brook  rippling  by  away  to  the  sea — 
All  earth  clad  in  garments  so  fair. 

Can  you  wonder,  oh,  daisy  and  clover 
And  meadow,  why  mists  dim  my  sight 

As  I  whisper  the  old  story  over, 

And  bring  back  the  ghosts  of  that  night  ? 

The  ghost  of  a  love  that  was  slighted, 
A  heart  that  was  broken  for  aye, 

A  wrong  that  can  never  be  righted, 
A  promise  that  lived  for  a  day. 

And  thou  were  a  witness,  oh,  blossoms, 
Else  ne'er  would  I  whisper  it  here; 

As  twined  with  thee,  the  memory  comes, 
Sweet  flowers  baptized  with  a  tear. 

—  04  — 


flf  Ji)ou  were  1bere. 

If  you  were  here  to-day, 

And  I  could  take  your  hand  in  mine, 
And  look  into  your  eyes  and  say, 

"Forgive  me,  dear,"  I  know  that  heart  of  thine 
Would  all  respond,  too  gladly; 

Though  words  I  may  have  said 
Had  shaken  your  brave  spirit  sadly, 

Your  hand  would  rest  upon  my  head, 
In  nought  but  earnest  kindness; 

Your  gentle  voice  and  dainty  tread, 
Would  waft  away  my  blindness, 

And  I  would  not  have  mourned  thee — dead. 

I  gaze  into  your  sad,  sweet  eyes, 

In  pictured  form;  and  wonder 
How  chasms  yawn,  and  walls  arise 

'Twixt  those  whom  nought  should  sunder. 
Strange,  when  friends  are  few, 

And  purest  love  a  dainty  rare, 
We'll  not  prove  true — 

That  with  a  fixed  and  vacant  stare 
We  look  away  in  cold  pretense, 

"  It  is  all  right,"  "  we  do  not  care," 
When  every  heart  beat,  hot  and  tense, 

Denies  the  charge — laid  bare. 

—  65  — 


Grim  "  paper  walls  "  of  sternest  doubt, 

Willful,  we  misunderstand; 
And  yet,  the  enemy  to  rout, 

May  simply  need  my  wave  of  hand; 
A  sunny  smile,  a  little  thing, 

A  power — a  perfect  talisman, 
To  ward  away,  as  birds  of  wing, 

The  noisome  vapors  of  earth's  ban. 
Oh,  when  memory  bears  set  pallid  lips, 

When  waxen  hands  lie  limp  and  low 
Beneath  a  sodden  mound,  there  sips 

Remorse,  who  dines  at  courts  of  woe, 

And  gluts  himself  on  misery. 

If  we  had  only  known! 
But  'tis  not  given  us  here  to  see, 

Till  later  days  have  flown; 
And  yet  we  know,  as  know  we  must. 

You  dear,  dear  dead,  if  you  could  speak. 
Would  clasp  our  hands  in  perfect  trust, 

And  whisper  with  white  lips,  and  meek. 
"  I  do,  forgive,  as  He  forgives." 

Believing  this,  tho'  heart  is  sore, 
We  courage  take,  for  still  there  lives 

The  sentiment  feeling  o'er  and  o'er. 

—  <*>— 


That  you  are  here  in  spirit; 

Your  hand  takes  mine  the  same  old  way, 
I  feel  your  heart  beat  near  it; 

I  look  into  your  eyes  and  say, 
"Father,  mother,  brother,  child," 

(Whoever  it  may  be) 
"  Let  thy  presence,  true  and  mild, 

Stay  near,  to  whisper  me, 
Lest  I  regret  again, 

And  Time  bring  back  to  me, 
The  same  old  mournful  strain, 

To  linger  through  Eternity." 


WOULD  you  recall  it  if  you  could? 

Was  every  moment  golden-lined? 
Were  bright  hours  spent  in  happy  mood? 

Did  not  a  shadow  creep  behind? 
Was  some  one  bettered  by  your  life? 

Did  aching  heart  cease  thus  to  beat? 
If  not,  your  yesterday  was  rife 

With  all  that  means  a  sure  defeat. 
—  67  — 


Xoofc  of  (Blab  Surprise. 

There's  such  a  look  of  glad  surprise 
In  our  darling's  starry  eyes! 
I  wonder  what  wee  Harold  sees, 
To  give  him  so  much  blissful  peace? 

His  little  waxen  hands  lie  low, 
And  whiter  than  the  driven  snow, 
Upon  his  silent,  pulseless  breast — 
Our  precious  baby  is  at  rest. 

And  yet  that  silent  look  of  wonder, 
With  radiant  dewdrops  lying  under 
The  deep-fringed  silken  lashes, 
A  glimpse  of  heaven's  brightness  flashes. 

Oh,  close  them  not,  until  the  last, 
They  tell  of  future  joys,  and  past, 
As  'round  the  sweetest  lips  there  plays 
A  happy  smile  of  Godly  praise. 

Our  little  love  is  wiser  now 
Than  we.     His  broad  fair  brow, 
Where  cluster  softly  golden  curls, 
Wisdom's  banner  now  unfurls. 

The  mystery  for  him  hath  past, 
The  Father's  hand  doth  hold  his  fast, 
And  leads  him  into  kindlier  ways 
Than  ours — forever  where  He  stays. 
—  68  — 


He  showeth  him,  we  know  not  of, 
So  filled  with  beauty  and  of  love, 
His  starry  eyes,  in  glad  surprise, 
Behold  the  wonders  of  the  skies. 

An  awe  upon  us  slowly  steals, 
As  God  His  love  to  him  reveals; 
We  cannot  fathom  yet  his  joy, 
So  stained  are  we  with  earth's  alloy. 

We  give  him  up  with  far  less  pain, 
Knowing  it  is  his  greater  gain, 
For  never  eyes  could  wear  such  glow 
Whom  He  did  not  anoint,  we  know. 

Now  gently  close  each  dainty  lid — 
That  glimpse  of  heaven  must  be  hid, 
Until  we  lie,  as  baby  lies, 
Safe  at  home,  in  glad  surprise. 


Grue  Beauty 

A  glimpse  of  the  soul  through  earnest  eyes, 
A  face  bright  with  joy  and  love's  surprise; 
A  strength  of  purpose  showing  through 
Each  carven  line,  with  kindness  true. 

—  69  — 


Sometimes. 

Sometimes,  when  all  about  is  still, 
And  calmly  wafts  the  evening  air, 

The  pent-up  feelings,  and  the  will, 
Both  prostrate  lie  in  deep  despair. 
Sometimes. 

Sometimes,  in  spite  of  reins  well  held, 
Whose  white-hand  power  is  self-control, 

With  lips  compressed,  and  bosom  swelled 
With  heart-ache  hunger  of  the  soul. 
Sometimes. 

We  cannot  pray,  we  only  moan, 
And  lie  in  misery  so  abject — 

With  hands  clasped  tensely,  cold  as  stone, 
And  tears  dried  hotly — none  suspect. 
Sometimes. 

We  long  for  death,  a  sudden  hush 

To  fall  upon  us  as  we  sit; 
Oblivion,  without  noise  or  crush, 

And  thus  the  end,  while  shadows  flit. 
Sometimes. 

—  70  — 


Perhaps  the  dearest  hopes  of  earth, 
Our  idols  shattered,  merest  clay; 

Long  years  of  toil,  that  knew  no  girth, 
By  lightest  breeze  are  swept  away. 
Sometimes. 

We  wonder  if  He  knew  or  cared  ? 

It  seems  so  to  our  breaking  hearts, 
Mocking  the  life  that  He  hath  spared. 

Thinking  naught  of  that  greater  part. 
Sometimes. 


poet. 


THE  poet  takes  his  text  from  nature, 

And  laughs  and  sings  in  joyous  tone, 
Or  weeps  and  sighs  with  heart  in  turn- 

For  every  smile  or  patient  moan. 
The  sun  not  always  warmly  shines, 

Nor  trees,  nor  grasses  put  forth  leaves; 
Clouds  shadow,  rains  fall,  warm  or  chill, 

And  poet  spirit  smiles  or  grieves. 


H  Cbristmae 


So  many  years  ago  He  came, 

The  little  Christ-child  boy; 
Came  in  His  Father's  blessed  name, 

To  fill  the  earth  with  joy. 

And  yet  it  seems  but  yesterday  — 

The  story  lately  read, 
Seems,  in  its  interesting  way, 

Of  life—  not  of  the  dead. 

How,  in  the  manger  fast  asleep, 

The  little  baby  lay, 
While  gentle  footsteps  'round  him  creep 

And  then  abashed,  away. 

How,  with  good  gifts  and  frankincense, 

Men  hovered  'bout  his  bed, 
And  watched  the  halo  so  intense 

From  babe's  to  mother's  head. 

The  star  that  led  them  on  that  night  — 

The  star  of  Bethlehem  — 
That  star  that  shines  for  us  so  bright; 

It  meant  the  same  to  them. 


The  world  know  not  of  penitence, 
And  prayer,  and  praise,  as  now; 

A  world  of  insignificance, 
Nor  head,  nor  knee  to  bow. 

But  when  He  came,  the  Iittl6  child, 
Whose  signet  was  God's  own, 

The  demons  turned  to  angels  mild, 
And  worshiped  at  His  throne. 

So  must  we  bow,  and  praise,  and  sing. 

For  Christ  is  risen  again; 
And  gifts  unto  His  children  bring, 

In  honor  of  the  slain. 

Hosanna!  to  our  God  and  King, 
Good  will  and  peace  to  men! 

Let  every  heart  in  rapture  sing 
Forever,  and Amen. 


Hove. 

TUP;  few  know  only  truest  love, 
It  rests  alone  on  things  above; 
Where  Patience,  Kindness,  Trust  and  Peace 
Are  never  known  to  have  surcease. 
—  73  — 


Ibow  fco  we  1know? 

Flow  do  we  know,  because  a  face 
Looks  grave,  that  one  is  sad? 

How  may  we  tell  if  witching  grace 
Covers  a  heart  that's  glad? 

Because  a  face  is  wreathed  in  smiles, 

Is  that  one  always  gay? 
A  demon  may  be  in  those  wiles. 

Or  grief  in  mock  array. 

Sometimes  a  manner  cold  and  stern. 

Conceals  a  tender  heart, 
That  still  for  love  and  home  doth  yearn, 

Whose  wounds  forever  smart. 

"  She  is  so  haughty,"  oft  'tis.said: 

Ah,  well,  they  do  not  know 
A  living  heart  lies  with  the  dead, 

Her  calmness  hides  her  woe. 

How  do  we  know  the  hearts  of  men 

Unless  we  judge  our  own? 
How  can  we  have  a  knowledge,  then, 

Of  those  who  strive  alone? 

—  74  — 


One  may  be  bad,  another  good, 

It's  not  for  us  to  say. 
Hearts  slowly  break  in  cheerful  mood, 

And  drift  out  every  day. 

A  human  laugh  in  silver  tones, 
Oft  greets  the  listening  ear; 

Hiding  a  tortured  soul's  deep  groans, 
That  Ood  alone  can  hear. 

We  have  not  time  to  watch  the  lives. 

Or  judge  of  human  kind; 
Enough  for  each  who  daily  strives, 

To  faults  of  all  be  blind. 

Not  one  of  us  but,  when  the  day 
Draws  to  its  evening  close, 

Might  better  be  in  every  way; 
This,  each  one  surely  knows. 


Hn  tuition. 

'Tis  hard  to  throw  sand  in  the  eyes, 
Striving  to  blind  him  who  sees 

By  "  intuition,"  true  and  wise; 
He  drinks  the  wine,  not  the  lees. 


So  Girefc. 

So  tired  of  watching  and  waiting 
And  hoping  for  happier  things; 

Pale  hands,  their  own  story  relating, 
Lie  clasped  like  two  folded  wings. 
So  Tired. 

So  tired.     So  weary  of  toiling 
With  always  a  purpose  in  view; 

So  tired,  when  naught  but  recoiling 
Comes  back  to  a  heart  warm  and  true. 
So  Tired. 

So  tired,  when  daily  come  shadows, 

Where  only  the  sunlight  should  gleam. 

With  never  a  walk  through  green  meadows. 
Or  a  glimpse  of  life's  beautiful  dream. 
So  Tired. 

So  tired,  heart-hungry,  starving, 

So  care-hedged,  misunderstood: 
Yet  bravely  a  bright  future  carving 
By  deeds  of  the  purest  and  good. 
So  Tired. 

—  76  — 


So  tired,  when  patient  endurance 

Brings  naught  but  a  handful  of  dross, 

As  "  hope  deferred  "  with  ah  upward  glance, 
Sinks  low,  without  profit,  but  loss. 

'No  Tired. 

So  tired,  and  perhaps,  fruition 

So  tardy,  may  come  not  at  all; 
Why  should  one.  all  Love  and  Ambition, 

Be  driven  so  close  to  the  wall? 
No  Tired . 

So  tired,  that  after  these  many  years, 
With  phantom-like  gleams  in  the  hair, 

And  eyes  grown  dull  with  scalding  tears. 
Karth's  promises  proved  but  a  snare. 
No  Tired. 

So  tired.      Perhaps  in  His  kindness. 

The  pitying  leather  above 
Led  us  away,  in  our  blindness. 

From  a  path  that  would  ne'er  reach  His  love. 
No  Tired. 

So  tired:  but  somehow  the  knowing 
A  life  had  been  well  spent  and  clean, 

That  xonn  ti me  the  pearls  we've  been  sowing 
Will  rival  the  moonlight's  sheen. 

Sun/'  trlt<  n    in  'II  itnf  IK 


Mbv>  Sino  of 


WHY  sing  of  old,  when  present  days 

Are  fresher,  fairer  far? 
As  well  the  moonbeam's  silent  rays 

To  tilt  against  the  star. 

Why  sing  of  foreign  lands  and  name, 
When  here  at  our  own  door 

Lies  every  attribute  of  Fame, 
We  search  for  o'er  and  o'er  ? 

Why  sing  of  cave  and  cavern  deep, 
Whose  land  can  ne'er  compare 

With  ours,  whose  mighty  wonders  sleep 
Around  us,  everywhere  ? 

Why  sing  of  artist,  or  of  art 

In  lands  beyond  the  seas, 
And  pass  by  those  of  greater  part 

In  glorious  lands  like  these  ? 

Oh,  Freedom  is  a  mighty  thing, 

And  yet  'tis  thrown  aside 
By  those  who  would  of  others  sing, 

Because  of  vaunted  pride. 

—  78- 


Tis  well  to  sing  some  good  of  all. 

In  other  lands  than  ours; 
Tis  sweet  to  hear  the  wild  bird?  sing 

And  cull  earth's  wildwood  flowers. 

And  yet  it  is  to  give  the  best 
We  have  to  our  own  shore, 

And  after  that,  with  gentle  zest. 
To  give  what  we  have  o'er. 

In  other  lands  (less  fragrant  soil) 
Its  people's  choicest  praise 

Is  for  their  own,  in  care  or  toil, 
And  thus  they  sing  in  lays. 

"  Our  own  fair  land,"  the  patriot  cries, 

It  gives  the  best  of  earth. 
The  pa-an  reaches  to  the  skies; 

"The  land  of  one's  own  birth  " 


(Bob. 

IF  you  cannot  believe,  then  hope — 
For  Hope  hath  snowy  wings 

To  help  us  rise  to  a  fuller  scope, 
And  the  understanding  of  things. 


IResignation. 

HE  knows;   it  rests  so  kindly  there; 

All  the  doubt,  the  woe  and  the  hungry  despair 

Over  at  last,  all  the  struggle  and  strife 

A  settled  calm  on  a  turbulent  life. 

Hot  eye&  grow  sadly  patient  the  while, 
And  the  quivering  lips  have  learned  to  smile: 
Pale  hands  have  a  sympathy  all  their  own — 
Resigned,  not  turned  to  wood  or  stone. 

Scars  lie  deep  on  the  heart  and  brow; 

Nothing  to  hope  or  wish  for  now. 

Ages  seem  to  have  passed  away 

Since  the  blow  struck  deep,  one  summer  day. 

All  the  bitterness  washed  away; 
No  thought  of  anger  to  rankle  or  sway; 
Grief  put  aside  for  a  holier  thing — 
Such  perfect  peace  as  the  angels  sing. 

Like  the  pulseless  glow  of  a  golden  strand, 
The  song  without  words  from  the  organ  grand. 
The  frozen  smile  on  the  face  of  the  dead, 
The  perfume  sweet  from  the  floweret's  head. 

"  A  Resignation  "  pure  doth  teach,  and 
Maketh  a  nobler  human  stand 
In  the  presence  of  Him  who  doth  all  things  well, 
From  ocean  deep  to  its  murmuring  shell. 

-^80  — 


Sublimity. 

JUST  to  feel  the  breath  of  His  kindness, 

And  the  touch  of  His  tender  hand, 
And  hear  the  swish  of  His  garments, 

Through  the  beauty  of  earth's  great  land 
To  see  in  the  towering  mountains, 

In  the  rippling  river's  song, 
The  dash  of  the  spray  and. fountains, 

His  smile,  as  it  rests  along 
The  rocks,  by  the  weird  old  ocean, 

Whose  waves  climb  skyward  high, 
Whose  restless,  quivering  motion 

Is  aflame,  by  the  sunset  sky; 
To  hear. in  the  winds  a  rythm 

Of  soulful  song  alone, 
That  speaks  to  each  creed  or  schism, 

A  language  purely  its  own; 
These  with  the  heart's  communion, 

And  lips  so  mute,  so  still; 
These  with  the  soul  in  union, 

I'nderstand  His  sublime  will. 


—  81  — 


Smile  ar^  be 


SMILE,  tho'  the  heart  be  breaking; 

Smile,  though  the  clouds  droop  low: 
Smile  in  the  morn  awak'ning, 

Smile  when  to  rest  you  go. 

Think  of  the  day  with  gladness, 
Though  toilful  the  hours  and  long; 

Banish  all  care  and  sadness; 
Lighten  your  labors  with  song. 

Open  the  door  of  your  sanctum, 

That  "  Holy  of  Holies"  —  the  heart; 
Let  in  the  sunshine  that  will  come, 
'    And  be  of  you  ever  a  part. 

Speak  kindly  words  to  the  erring  — 
Harsh  one  embitter  the  soul; 

Each  to  the  other  deferring, 
Holding  o'er  self  full  control. 

Be  content,  be  kind,  be  loving; 

Remember  the  shortness  of  life; 
It's  not  worth  while  to  be  proving  — 

Constantly  arguing  with  strife. 

—  82  — 


Every  life  hath  its  bitter 

As  well  as  its  sweets,  to  drain; 

It  is  not  "  all  pomp  and  glitter," 

That's  freeest  from  sorrow  and  pain. 

The  golden  rule  is  the  best  one 

To  follow  the  whole  journey  through: 

••  Do  unto  others  as  you  alone 
Would  have  others  do  unto  you." 


Hpatbp. 

It  steals  along  the  nerves, 

And  touches  every  part; 
Then  snake-like  winds  an;l  curve 

An'd  twines  about  the  heart. 
It  soothes  the  flagging  pulse 

With  flatteries  of  balm, 
And  drags  down,  to  repulse 

All  efforts  of  true  calm. 
It  strikes  with  poisened  tongue, 
The  center  of  the  mind; 
And  leaves  the  soul  among 

Old  ruins — stark,  and  blind. 
—  83  — 


Bfter  While. 

AFTKR  while,  when  the  years  are  gone, 

And  time  no  more  shall  be; 
When  night  comes  not,  nor  break  of  dawn. 

Nor  wash  of  wave  at  sea; 
When  all  is  calm:  no  winds  to  stir, 

No  moon,  no  sun,  no  stars; 
And  neither  laugh,  nor  soft  murmur, 

Is  heard  'neath  sodden  bars. 

What  will  the  meaning  be  to- you? 

Ah.  what  will  it  mean  to  me? 
AVill  skies  anew,  be  just  as  blue. 

In  the  vast  eternity? 
Kternity!     Is  it  here,  or  there? 

Does  it  mean  forever  and  aye? 
With  a  day  of  rest,  that  reaches  where 

Is  eternal  bye  and  bye. 

Shall  we  never  look  back  "  after  while?'' 

Will  memory  deadened  be? 
Would  you  have  it  so,  with  never  a  smile. 

For  a  joy  that  used  to  be? 
If  labor  is  wafted  forever  away, 

Will  heaven  not  slowly  pall, 
With  its  beauty  and  sweetness  in  one  long  day 

And  make  of  us  drones  for  all? 

—  84  — 


Oh,  the  misty  gray  of  this  "after  while," 

With  what  is  its  meaning  fraught, 
As  we  journey  along,  mile  after  mile, 

With  experience  dearly  bought? 
Does  it  mean  that  with  love,  and  perfect  trust 

And  a  life  that  hath  no  guile, 
Brings  sure  to  us,  as  we're  taught  it  must, 

Great  joy  in  this  "after  while." 

Or  shall  we  gaze  blankly,  with  wide  staring  eyes, 

Knowing  no  love,  nor  no  hate; 
Indifferent  to  all,  ito  glad,  sweet  surprise 

To  greet  as  we  stand  at  the  gate; 
The  loved  ones  we've  lost,  now  found  but  to  lose, 

For  if  they're  the  same  to  us  all; 
No  difference  shown,  nothing  to  choose, 

'Twill  be  naught  but  "  wormwood  and  gall." 

Oh,  better  by  far,  if  ties  be  thus  riven, 

The  grave  with  its  long  dreamless  sleep; 
For  even  to  one  "  unto  whom  it  is  given," 

Twere  better,  than  waken  to  weep; 
Hopes  that  were  cherished  through  pain-stricken 
years, 

II<i\v  we  watched  their  bright  light 'long  the  line! 
To  have  them  casf  down  after  suffering  and  fears — 

Then  that  is  no  Heaven  of  mine. 

—  85— 


IRigbt  anb  tbe  Wrong. 

I  KNOW  what  it  is  to  be  sorry, 

And  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  glad; 

I've  been  on  the  hill-tops  of  glory, 
And  I  know  what  it  is  to  be  sad, 

I've  been  in  the  homes  of  the  lowly, 
In  the  rich  have  I  roamed  without  care; 

In  places  most  sacred  and  holy, 

And  in  dens  where  there's  never  a   prayer. 

And  I  know  as  I  meet  every  human, 
The  difference  we  talk  of  is  small, 

'Twixt  man,  and  'twixt  woman  and  woman, 
Old  Adam's  the  same  in  them  all. 

Money  ofttimes  makes  distinction, 
And  culture  and  care  greater  still; 

And  pride,  which  will  bear  no  extinction, 
Endeavors  to  sugar  the  pill. 

But  the  heart  of  each  human  beats  ever 
The  same  in  the  rich  and  the  poor; 

The  weakly  of  intellect,  the  clever, 
The  good  and  the  bad,  I  am  sure. 

—  86  — 


Perhaps  if  your  lines  had  not  drifted 
Into  places  most  pleasant    and  fair, 

You  would  not  be  the  "  uplifted  " 

Any  more  than  that  creature  right  there. 

So  pause — when  you  think  to  condemn  him. 

"  Put  yourself  in  his  place  "  as  it  were, 
Forgiving  the  sin,  for  his  ignorance  dim; 

Just  give  him  a  chance  and  a  share. 

There's  nothing  like  living  to  never  regret, 
For  a  soul  who  could  happier  be; 

And  never  a  wrong,  but  a  right  with  it  yet, 
If  you  sift  out  the  wrong  thoroughly. 


Sono  in  (TDp  Ibeart. 

TIIKRK'S  a  song  in  my  heart  that  I  never  sing, 

And  its  music  is  low  and  deep; 
Its  chords  are  all  true,  but  one  broken  string, — 

That,  has  a  memory  to  keep. 
I  hear  it  so  oft  when  all  else  is  still, 

In  sweetest  of  notes,  and  clear; 
And  then  as  I  listen  and  bow  to  His  will, 

There's  a  moan  on  the  string,  and  a  tear. 
—  87  — 


1lt  is  HIwa\>0  So. 

THERE  is  always  in  every  pleasure 

A  something  akin  to  pain, 
The  heart,  tho'  brim  full  of  treasure, 

Beats  ever  a  sad  refrain. 

The  laugh  that  is  gayest  is  fleetest, 

A  sigh  oft  follows  its  tone 
As  the  song  that  is  sung,  tho'  sweetest, 

Has  a  rythmn  of  sadness  its  own. 

The  music  of  waves  have  a  murmur, 
An  undertone  trenchant  and  deep, 

As  of  troubled  unrest,  or  of  hope  deferred: 
A  something  to  'waken  from  sleep. 

If  you  gain  the  prize  you  have  toiled  for  long 

And  happiness  seems  so  near, 
Shadows  will  follow  in  fearful  throng; 

Some  one  will  cause  you  a  tear. 

If  you  find  friends  true,  you  will  find  them  false. 

-As  hope  to  the  earth  is  thrown 
By  the  cruel  words  of  a  soul  who  halts 

To  give  you  a  cutting  tone. 

—  88  — 


Birds  warble  sweetly,  but  in  every  note 

One  may  hear  an  echoing  cry; 
And  in  all  peaceful  zephyrs  that  Moat, 

From  earth  to  the  deep  blue  sky. 

Tin-re's  a  sigh,  and  a  moan,  and  a  whisper  of  tears. 
And  a  drift  of  the  "might  have  been;" 

Just  as  the  moon  her  shadow  clears, 
A  cloud  comes  shifting  between. 

It  is  always  so,  as  the  right  and  the  wrong 

(Jo  wandering  hand  in  hand; 
So  will  the  sadness  follow  the  song, 

While  sung  on  this  earthly  land. 

The  clouds  will  follow  the  sunshine, 

The  rain  will  softly  fall 
Into  all  lines,  both  yours  and  mine, 

It  is  thus  for  one  and  all. 

But  oh,  it  is  something  to  think  of, 

Something  to  cherish  most  dear: 
That  after  all,  there's  a  boundless  love 

To  wipe  away  every  tear. 


—  89  — 


U>ule 

YES,  it's  an  olden,  old  story, 

Yet  so  new,  is  the  tale  that  is  told, 
That  catching  the  rays  of  His  glory, 

And  weaving  the  thread  in  spun  gold; 
We'll  tell  in  the  words  He  has  given  us, 

The  birth  of  His  son,  Christ  our  Lord; 
How  he  came  in  his  beauty  to  brave  thus, 

The  scorn  of  the  world,  and  its  sword. 

How  fair,  as  he  lay  in  the  manger, 

Fell  the  promise  of  peace  at  his  birth; 
How  the  hand-clasp  of  brother  and  stranger 

Should  bring  great  good  will  to  the  earth; 
As  Mary,  his  mother,  bent  o'er  him 

With  eyes  beaming  forth  such  a  love, 
Out  from  the  shadows  of  twilight  dim, 

There  drifted  down  songs  from  above. 

So  freighted  with  pearls  of  rejoicing, 

So  radiant  with  heaven's  own  smile, 
That  angels  forever  are  voicing, 

This  gift  of* our  Lord,  all  the  while. 
They  tell  (and  the  words  fall  so  sweetly, 

Like  balm,  on  the  deep-troubled  heart), 
That  the  Father  doth  all  things  completely, 

And  in  all,  we  have  each  one  a  part. 
—90— 


"This  gift  that  is  yours,  is  also  mine." 

Mark!     The  silver-toned  bells  chime  clear. 
See,  the  star  of  Bethlehem  in  beauty  shines, 

To  light  up  the  way,  dark  and  drear. 
Rind  out,  Christmas  bells,  send  forth  in  peals. 

"  While  shepherds  watch  their  flocks;" 
In  homage  bow,  the  suppliant  kneels, 

As  softly  fall  the  knocks. 

It  shall  be  opened  unto  you;  rise, 

And  sing  for  joy  and  gladness; 
In  one  vast  scroll,  the  earth  and  skies, 

Now  meet  to  banish  sadness. 
Receive  the  gift,  with  thankful  praise, 

And  share  the  triumph  when 
He  gently  leads  thee  all  thy  days, 

In  paths  of  peace.     Ameri. 


Clasp  of  a  Ibanfc. 

"V 

IT  means  for  more  than  the  meeting  of  hands 

Just  as  boards  are  pressed; 
And  the  cordial  grasp  of  the  sincere  man's, 

Holds  all  that  is  truest  and  best. 
—  91  — 


Sometime  it  will  Come. 

Sometime  the  day  will  come,  my  dearest, 
When  you  and  I  no  longer  wait  at  even' 

For  the  coming  form  of  one  who  is  the  nearest 
Each  to  the  other,  on  this  earth  or  heaven. 

A  day  will  dawn,  when  one  of  us  stand  lonely, 
Thinking  of  the  past  and  all  it  gave; 

And  if  the  love  we  bore  each  other  only 
Went  beyond  a  lowly,  grass-grown  grave? 

If,  when  the  gates  swung  wide  for  some  to  enter, 
You  would  stand  waiting  on  the  other  side 

For  me,  or  I  should  linger — loving;  tender, 
Waiting  at  the  golden  gate  for  thee. 

Ah,  "  sometime  it  will  come,"  perhaps  at  twilight, 
Sadder  still,  at  lonely  midnight  hour; 

When  we  are  thus  stricken  by  the  chilling  blight 
That  comes  to  every  human  flower. 

My  tears  fall  now  at  e'en  the  thought  of  parting, 
Then  what  would  follow, when  real  parting  came? 

Even  as  deep  pains,  my  heart  for  thee  is  darting, 
So  'twould  manifold,  in  greater  name. 


Then  darling,  as  \ve  know  an  hour  is  coming, 
Or  a  day — it  may  be  many  years — 

When  we,  as  in  all  Nature  summing, 

Say,  "  good-bye,  love,"  low,  with  falling  tears, 

Let  us  prove  by  every  passing  hour  of  living, 
That  purest  love  and  trust  are  best,  and  yet 

When  mistakes  come,  be  e'en  so  forgiving, 
That  death  will  bring  no  shadow  of  regret. 


Disappointment. 

YKS,  we  all  know  what  it  is  to 

"  Stake  a  hazard  on  a  die 
And  lose" — that  is,  most  of  us  do, 

And  tho'  we  may  not  cry 
Out,  tho  hurt  is  there  the  same. 

And  why  it  is  that  agony 
Should  follow,  where  war  with  pain 

Is  common;  why,  where  air's  so  free, 
We  should  be  only  potters'  clay, 

To  crumble  in  some  hands  at  will, 
'Tis  hard  to  understand.     One  day 

It  may  be,  "  Peace  be  still.". 

—  93— 


Beefeun  Bob. 

HE  warn't  no  bigger  nor  nuthin, 

An'  jest  abeout  ez  slim; 
But  he  hed  a  sort  o'  suthin, 

Thet  made  a  hero  o'  him. 

An'  only  a  leetle  Swede  chap, 

Nigh  ten  year  ole,  I  guess; 
Whose  skanty  clo'es  an'  rimless  cap, 

Wuz  nuthin  more  ner  less 

Than  rags  thet  cold  winds  pierced  through 

He  warn't  afeerd  o'  work, 
An'  in  his  faded  eyes  o'  blue, 

A  look:  he'd  never  shirk. 

His  dad  an'  marm  wuz  miners 

In  a  teown  in  Michigan: 
Thef  warn't  no  superfiners, 

Jest  a  woman  an'  a  man 

Thet  worked  hard  the  hull  day  long 

En  the  vitals  of  the  yearth; 
Their  lives  warn't  wuth  a  penny  song; 

They  never  hed  no  mirth. 
—  94  — 


T\vn/  jest  a  stiddy  toil  fer  bread, 
An'  "  Beekun  Bob,"  their  son,  . 

(The  only  kid  they  ever  hed, 
An'  he  wuz  a  dandy  one,) 

Made  up  his  mind  to  take  a  stan' 
When  the  night  begin  to  come, 

Right  nigh  a  great  hole  in  the  land, 
They'd  pass  when  they  went  hum. 

So  when  the  shadders  'gin  to  fall 
An'  night  wuz  settlin'  deown, 

He'd  take  his  pine  knots,  one  an'  all, 
An'  hurry  through  the  teown. 

An'  when  he'd  reach  the  ole  mine  shaft, 
Which  hedn't  been  used  fer  years. 

He'd  light  his  torches,  fore  an'  aft, 
An'  hold  'em  up  like  spears. 

Ho  warn't  no  slouch,  I  kin  tell  ye, 

He'd  nary  thort  o'  self; 
Al'eerd  his  parents  wouldn't  see 

The  hole  and  cavin    shelf, 

An'  mebbe  they  would  fall  en  it. 

So  every  night  he  stood, 
Till  he  earned  the  title  fit, 

O'  "  Beekun  Bob,  the  good." 

* 

—  95  — 


Wall,  one  night — an  orful  cold  'un, 
The  winds- blowed  mighty  high — 

He  tuk  his  stan'  when  day  wuz  done, 
With  pine  sticks,  light  an'  dry. 

Night  wore  on,  he  never  flinched; 

His  dad  an'  marm  stayed  long. 
Neow  the  thin,  white  face  growed  pinched- 

He  warn't  so  very  strong. 

An'  when  the  dawn  o'  raornin'  cum, 
It  foun'  "  Bob"  standin'  still, 

An'  frozen  stiff,  an'  white  with  foam 
His  lips, — the  night  did  kill, 

The  torch  into  his  hands  wuz  burned, 

His  eyes  stood  open  wide; 
He  never  left  his  post,  an'  earned 

A  home  the  tother  side. 

You  see,  it  happened  in  this  wise: 
The  mine  whar  his  folks  t'iled 

Caved  in  on  'em,  up  to  the  eyes; 
An'  after  hours,  tho'  s'iled, 

They  wuz  released  by  crowds  o'  folks. 

What  do  you  think  they  did? 
(A  lump  gits  into  my  throat  an'  chokes 

When  I  think  o'  that  kid.) 

—  96  — 


They  didn'  think  nuthin  on  it; 

Sorry,  I  reckon,  o'  course. 
They  said,  with  an  emphasis  'pon  it, 

"  Dead  hoy  no  good  to  us." 

The  "docs"  at  the  city  hospital, 

They  ttik  his  hod y  away; 
I  seed  him  lyilig  like  a  gal, 

While  his  poor  hands  bandaged  lay 

1  don't  lay  it  up  agin  'em, 

His  dad  and  numn,  you  kneow; 

They  meant  well,  hed  a  row  to  stem,— 
Th'  same  to  the  dead  hero. 


Match 


IT  needs  only  a   sincere    mind, 
To  read  the  thoughts  of  men; 
Even  tho'  one  were  stricken  blind, 

He'd  have  the  knowledge  then. 
A  closer  watch  upon  ourselves, 

'Twere  well  to  keep  each  day; 
Lest  some  in  form  of  fairy  elves, 
Should  lead  us  to  betray. 
_  07 

vi 


©pal. 


THE  superstitious  gravely  claim 

This  gem  sheds  baleful  gleams; 
One  wearing  it  may  come  to  shame 

Or  grief,  and  even  his  dreams 
Will  be  distorted,  and  blame 

Fall  on  him  for  unjust  cause. 
Were  this  so,  to  me  it  seems 

I'd  wear  it  still,  and  never  pause 
To  think  if  true,  but  keep  right  on 

The  self-same  way,  and  duty  do 
Through  good  or  ill,  night  or  dawn; 

Striving  to  be  as  brave  and  true 
Till  breath  and  life  were  gone, 

And  heaven  loomed  in  view. 


Xabor. 

Honest  "  labor"  is  not  degrading, 
Tis  thought  that  makes  it  so; 

Strength  of  purpose,  with  never  fading 
/eal,  will  more  noble  grow. 


TUntil  Me  flDeet  again. 

The  softening  tints  of  soothing  Autumn  days 

Are  painting  all  the  land; 
Now  brown,  now  gray,  now  red  and  sunny  rays, 

Abroad  on  every  hand. 
The  Winter  snow  will  gently  fall, and  ice-bound  lake 

And  river,  brook  and  rill; 
Then  Springs]] all  conic  with  rain. and  Su miner  take 

Her  place  at  own  sweet  will. 
I>nt  oli,  may  joy.  and  peace,  and  happiness  be  thine, 

No  trouble  deep,  or  pain. 
In  com  ing  day  or  night;  may  peace  and  love  entwine, 

"  Tntil  we  meet  again." 


—  99  — 


I  N  DKX. 


A  CHRISTMAS  ANTHEM 31  j    No  NIGHT 27 

A  CHRISTMAS  IDYI 72  j    ONE  OF  THESE  DAYS 58 

ACROSS  THE  LINE 56  I    ONLY  A  FLOWER 14 

A  DAY  FROM  HEAVEN 4O  \    OUR  WARRIOR  DEAD 22 

AFTER  \VHII,E 84  j    PARTING 17 

A  LITTLE  CHILD 10  j    PEARLS 53 

A  LITTLE  PAIR  OF  SHOES 36  j    POESY  6 

APATHY 83       RESIGNATION 8O 

A  PICTURE 59       SMILE  AND  BE  GLAD 82 

APPRECIATION 51  !    SOMETIMES 7O 

AT  LAST 52    I    SOMETIME  IT  WILL  COME 92 

BEEKUN  BOB 94       SOMEWHERE 8 

BB  MERCIFUL 48       So  TIRED 7« 

CHAINED  DOWN 61       SPED  ARROWS 2O 

CHRIST  ENTERING  JERUSALEM...  11   ;    SUBLIMITY 81 

CINCINNATI'S  CENTENNIAL 49  j    THANKSGIVING 33 

DAY  AFTER  DAY 21        THE  ANGELUS 30 

DISAPPOINTMENT 93   ;    THE  ASHES  OF  DEAD  HOPES 28 

FORGIVEN 37  i    THE/CLASP  OF  A  HAND 91 

GOD 79       THE  HUNTER'S  SONG    .  .46 

GREETING 5       THE  LOOK  OF  GLAD  SURPRISE  . .  .68 

HEART  TO  HEART 7       THE  OPAL  98 

HER  LOVER 41   j    THE  POET 71 

How  DO  WE  KNOW 74  j    THE  RIGHT  AND  THE  WRONG 86 

IF  You  WERE  HERE 65   !    THE  RUBY  55 

INTUITION 75  i    THE  SUNSHINE  OF  DEATH  ..         18 

IT  COMES  IN  MY  DREAMS 54   j    THE  Soxes  IN  MY  HEART 87 

IT  is  ALWAYS  So 88  !    THE  UNSUNG  SOXG  23 

K EEP  THE  HEART  YOUNG 43       THE  to  OODLAND .38 

LABOR 98       TO-MORROW        25 

LK  BRAVE  CHEVALIER 44       TRUE  BEAUTY 69 

LOOKING  FORWARD 32  j    TRY  NOT  TO  FEEI 15 

LISTEN   42  j    UNHAPPY  47 

LOVE 73       UNTIE,  WE  MEET  AGAIN  99 

LOVE'S  TRIBUTE 62       WATCH  THYSELF          97 

MEADOW  BLOOM 64       WHY  SING  OF  OLD    78 

MISUNDERSTANDING.   39       YESTERDAY 67 

MY  CHILDHOOD'S  THOUGHTS 24       YULE  TIDE  . .  . .  .90 


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